One Single Step
by Ballettmaus
Summary: When Mac and Stella joined their friends for an evening of fun and relaxation they thought the worst of the week was over. But life hardly ever goes as planned and it only takes a single moment of consideration to completely alter the path of fate.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI NY

So… now that I have finally managed to twist the story around to my pleasing, I am ready to share it. It was supposed to be a one-shot… but I guess a little short story will have to do as well ;-)

There are very mild and very general spoilers from season 5 buried in there somewhere.

While I do like write very correct, like to stick with facts, do a lot of research on subjects etc, I am sure it's not entirely medically or juridical accurate. The latter is not exactly story relevant and there is only little mentioning; parts of the former are based on personal and friends' experience nevertheless those of you who are knowledgeable in the fields concerned might find themselves thinking that it would not go down that way. I am aware of that but it is fiction after all and I hope it's enjoyable nevertheless.

Lastly, a special thanks to lily moonlight for so patiently answering all my vocabulary and language questions, for taking the time to correct said language mistakes and helping me with the title and summary! (which I hate - having to come up with that is)

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"So, we couldn't pin the murder on that guy," Flack was about to conclude his story, "but the money he had killed his wife for had actually not been in the house as bills. She had had all of it in security papers and he had used those "worthless" papers minutes ago to light the fire place to burn the evidence which would have convicted him. The look on his face was priceless."

Despite the rather predictable outcome of the story, his listeners broke out laughing, the mood having been light and chatty all evening long. Everyone was relieved that the week and a half was over and that especially the past three days were behind them. Stella and Mac had spent most of those in court – either one of them or both at a time – and with the two heads of the crime lab at least partially otherwise engaged, Manhattan had reckoned it to be the perfect time to become a madhouse.

After an already exhausting week with bad weather and some very uncooperative witnesses and suspects, the infamous three days had started out with 3 unlinked murders within the first day. A hit and run, a suicide and a badly beaten guy who turned out to have taken the hits in justified self-defense were added during the 12 hours that followed. With that and at least one CSI short everyone had done their additional share of overtime and were worn out by mid-week.

But to make things even worse the nerve wracking trial had pushed Stella and even Mac to the edge creating a tense atmosphere around the lab. It had almost gone to the point of being insufferable and when the jury had retreated for deliberation yesterday afternoon the anxiousness for a verdict had been virtually sliceable.

Given the chaotic trial no one had expected a decision before the weekend but by noon today the jury had come back with a conviction. The entire lab had breathed a sigh of relief and the two murder cases which were still unsolved had suddenly seemed like a piece of cake.

When Flack, ironically the one who did not fail to mention whenever possible how glad he was to not work in the lab, had suggested they go out for a drink and celebrate, it hadn't taken much to convince everyone. Even Mac had gratefully left his office no more than 15 minutes after his shift was over.

To his surprise he had run into Stella who he would have sworn had already left.

She had simply smiled at his somewhat strange expression and had wordlessly held the elevator as he had stood in front of it, brows raised, briefly scratching the back of his head. Once he had finally decided to move inside, their eyes had locked for only an instant but that instant had been enough that by the time they had come to a halt in the parking garage it was settled that they would drive together.

During the ride neither one had been in the mood to talk much and Stella had spent most of the time staring out the driver's window catching Mac's glance every now and then. The look they exchanged had not been meant to communicate, it was a simple look, a look that portrayed their enormous relief that this exhausting trial was over. That portrayed their relief of once again being able to say whatever they pleased without being judged or questioned and of finally having some minutes to themselves with no one around to bother them.

The trial was supposed to have been over days ago but both the prosecutor and defense attorney had done everything possible within the legal limits to manipulate it. Due to that court had already started a day late which, of course, had then been argued over and it had dragged on like that from thereon.

By the time they had finally taken the stand – Mac as the forensic expert, Stella as a witness which naturally had previously been subject to some heated discussions – their appearances had already been rescheduled twice. Furthermore, the prosecutor had managed to put that "no brainer" of a trial in jeopardy, unable to use the fail-safe evidence the lab had provided him with to his advantage.

To see that, see how their hard work threatened to have been a waste of time, had robbed Stella and Mac of their last nerve and the conviction had completely baffled them even if in a positive kind of way.

But that was behind them now, already nothing more than a memory, one that heads would be shaken over in amazement over how the odds had played out, one of those that seemed too absurd to be actually true.

Yet it was and it was also the reason why they were here, in an overcrowded bar, having fun with their friends.

The six of them were crammed into a corner around a table for four, packed in between fellow officers, groups of women and men and a bachelor party which appeared to take up most of the tables and chairs. With Danny and Lindsay sharing a seat as well, Flack and Angell were the only ones having a chair of their own however they were squashed in between table and wall.

But tonight the discomfort was only of minor importance and as the last to have joined the group, Stella and Mac hadn't even bothered trying to dig up another chair. Without a word or moment of hesitation they had slipped onto the bench that was fit for one – one and a half at most – and no one had so much as given it a second thought.

As the laughter now died down Danny launched into one of his stories, one that he had already told several times and that became slightly more dramatic with each recount. Over time he had stretched the truth, converting it into a quite fantastic piece of fiction rather than an accurate report of happenings. Nevertheless his telling was somewhat picturesque and he usually managed to find an impressed audience in a few rookies.

Tonight, however, those were nowhere close to overhear and all he did was cause a few meaningful smiles to appear on his friends' faces. Flack couldn't resist to utter an exaggerated groan, ignoring the warning look Danny shot him before he went on with his telling a moment later.

"So, the four suspects," he took up where he had left off, Mac's brows rising while he turned to Stella, his features skeptic.

Her brows, too, were slightly raised, her eyes gazing at some undefined point on the table in front of her as she bit her lips, very obviously suppressing her urge to laugh.

"Didn't he say three suspects two seconds ago?" Mac asked leaning in to her, causing her lips to break into a brief grin.

"Shhh," she admonished, turning towards him, their faces only inches apart. "You are spoiling the story," she added with as straight a face as she could manage, the mischievous spark in her eyes giving her away though.

"I can't help myself," he replied smiling lightly, playing along. "I am a cop and a CSI – the worst combination there is." While his tone had grown serious at his last words, his eyes were just as hers twinkling, prompting Stella to offer him a coy smile in return.

"Is that so?" she inquired raising her brows in a challenging, almost flirtatious manner, leaving it up to him to determine whether she meant his job, the worst combination or the both.

"You can take my word on it," he answered, something oddly relaxed in his otherwise serious features. Something that so clearly showed how much he was enjoying himself and that Stella had to dig deep in her memory for to remember the last time she had heard it.

Without a reply she ran her eyes over Mac, her lips forming into a faint, happy smile that she wasn't aware of at first, noticing a little surprised that his hand was suddenly reaching out for her.

Before she was able to say something, she felt him brush over her cheek and was about to make a comment when she became aware of his extended finger. Lowering her gaze, she saw an eyelash visibly resting on the far end of his index finger and she lifted her doubtful eyes back to Mac. They went down on to the eyelash a second later before her gaze once again was meeting his.

She studied him a little suspiciously, his look tenderly demanding and eventually she relented. Briefly, she glanced sideways, closing her eyes when she was sure no one was watching and making that wish, she blew at his finger.

Her soft breath felt like a summer breeze to him, like a feather brushing over his skin and for a moment he kept staring at his finger, relishing the sensation, then raised his gaze again.

He did so the same instant she re-opened her eyes, their gazes immediately captivated by the other ones, a to them unknown nevertheless intriguing feeling arising inside of them; spreading from somewhere close to their hearts. Enthralled they let it settle, allowing minutes to pass without either saying a word, enjoying the comfortable silence between them until Stella's soft voice eventually broke through the stillness.

"I am not telling you, Mac," she smiled, having had no problem at figuring out his present thoughts.

"I didn't ask," he pointed out almost defensively, sometimes hating it when she so effortlessly knew what was on his mind by simply looking at him, into his eyes, yet adoring it at the same time. Just like he adored that wistful smile with which she kept gazing at him now as she reached for her glass.

She found it to be empty and a look of surprise briefly crossed her features before she set it back down. For a second she stared at her unfilled pint, then a smile reappeared on her face, this time a sly one and shifting her eyes back to Mac, her hand slipped naturally around his glass.

Her fingers brushed against his as she sneaked his pint out of his hand, already drinking when he finally caught on to her plan. All he could do was watch her drain the rest of his beer and the innocent look she offered him once she was done, raising her eyelids in a single, coy movement. With an irresistible charm in her eyes, she quickly slipped the glass back into his hand like nothing happened, their fingers touching again, lingering for the blink of an eye longer than necessary.

"You didn't have to," Stella finally replied giving him another smile, this one indistinct, yet it was fading as their eyes met again a moment later.

There was an instant connection, drawing them further away from reality at a fast pace, Danny's objecting voice all of a sudden pulling them out of whatever they had been getting into.

"Alright people, that's it!" he exclaimed, prompting all the eyes around the table to shift to him, the look on Flack, Angell and Lindsay's faces making it obvious that they, too, had not been the least interested in Danny's telling, very apparently having led a separate conversation, as well.

Now though the center of attention clearly was on him and everyone watched him scramble off the chair behind Lindsay a little bewildered.

"Where are you going?" she wanted to know a little surprised, grabbing his wrist.

"The bar, trying to see if anyone likes me there," he replied the wounded pride not completely a pretense nevertheless his words brought a few smirks on to some of the others faces.

"Just don't forget to order the new round of drinks," Flack threw in grinning broadly.

"Who says I was going to come back?" Danny retorted, Lindsay immediately responding, her "I do" even quicker than his response. "And Lucy does, too," she corrected, her look daring him to object.

A wide smile formed on Danny's face as he leaned in to her, stealing a quick kiss before whispering something in her ear that had her lips curve into a smile as well. As they kept looking into each others eyes, their smiles proof of the shared secret, Flack let out an exaggerated groan, getting up from his chair as well.

"Come on Romeo," he remarked dryly, giving Danny a friendly slap on the back, "love making is for later. We're suffering a drought here."

Grimacing Danny turned to him yet Flack was already disappearing into the crowd. He hurried to catch up with him, Angell and Lindsay staring after the two men, each set of eyes marveling over a different butt.

"Shouldn't you be going, too?" Stella softly nudged Mac, her eyes still a little dreamy from observing the caring scene between Danny and Lindsay.

"You want to have a butt to gaze at as well?" he replied nonchalantly, but dead serious, his brows risen in skeptic question.

Her eyes shot up and her mouth dropped in a reflex as she planned to say something yet nothing came out and all she could do was stare at him blankly.

He returned that look as if he had asked the most ordinary question, maintaining a straight poker face, enjoying that she very obviously struggled to regain her composure.

All she had meant for was for him to join the other two men to lend a helping hand, he certainly was aware of that. Just like he knew that not in her wildest dreams would she have imagined getting such an answer. Not from him anyway. Even less so in a public place.

He certainly couldn't deny that he had been surprised by his own words as well and if he was honest to himself, he couldn't remember having ever made such a suggestive remark. Not even at High School, not to Claire or Peyton; he had never so much as contemplated it, let alone offer it to anyone he was not romantically involved with.

But the words had just come to him, had tumbled out of his mouth before he had known it and now that they had, he actually liked the fact that they had.

"I can't believe you just said that," Stella finally managed to mutter, the bewilderment over his statement still very present in her voice.

Mac responded with the most innocent look he could muster, earning a deathly glare from her.

"That look won't get you anywhere with me," she scolded almost flirtatiously into his ear, at last bringing a boyish grin to his face.

"It already did," he replied mirroring her movement of leaning close, his mouth only inches from her ear. His words were slow and calculated so they had time to sink in and he observed with pleasure how she had to swallow to keep her mouth from going dry.

She tried to utter an objection yet she was drawing a blank again and that in itself was proof enough of the truth of his statement. Nevertheless he turned to her with a downright challenging look, inevitably connecting their eyes again, the mischief transforming to warmth the moment they met, forming an invisible bond.

A bond that had already started to built itself, to make its presence known over the past days, a bond that had developed from something neither one had been aware of to be there. Now they were but the point of return had passed unnoticed. It was impossible to go into any other direction than straight forward – if it had ever been possible to begin with – and neither one of them wanted it any different. Despite its unpredictable journey the path which that something would take them down was oddly soothing, reassuring, exciting and they had mutely agreed to let it lead them; guide them, follow it wherever it would be going.

Engaged in a rather pointless discussion, Danny and Flack returned with the drinks, setting them in the middle of the table and as the two guys settled back into their respective seats Mac wordlessly reached for his and Stella's drink.

Putting her root beer in front of her, their gazes locked once more for the briefest of an instant, a time so short only they noticed but to them it was long enough. Long enough to reestablish that bond, to strengthen it, to exchange a few silent words before focusing their attention back to the resuming conversation.

It was Lindsay who this time around offered a story, the fact that it was set in Montana opening the door for several jokes to be thrown in on that account. But she either ignored them with ease or returned the favor then went on with her narration completely unruffled and soon Stella found that an unintentional smile over the younger CSI had appeared on her face.

It was amazing how she had bloomed, how confident she had become among them, how she seemed to have so easily managed to gain the respect she deserved, even from Danny. She fit in perfectly and right now, here, with her precious baby at home, the father of the child close, surrounded by friends she gave the impression of needing nothing more than that. Of having everything she would ever have to have in her life, of being one of the few lucky ones out there who truly had achieved what everyone aimed for – and if anyone had merited it, it was her.

Sinking even further into her own thoughts, the slight dreamy smile still on her lips, Stella's mind went back to a book she had just finished. A romance novel in which the author had explained in the foreword that he believed in there being a perfect match for everyone. That every human-being had a soul mate and that one's heart would usually know where to find it, although it sometimes needed a little help from fate.

It was what she liked to believe in as well, what in Lindsay's case seemed so absolutely true and wondering what exactly that would mean for her, if it meant that her match was closer than she was aware of, she slowly leaned back. She felt her shoulders come into contact with something soft and briefly bounced up before realizing that it was Mac's arm which he had propped onto the backrest of the bench.

Giving him the possibility of drawing away, she glanced at him from the side, yet he didn't even seem to notice. On the contrary to her he was actually listening to Lindsay, so she leaned back, his arm responding more or less automatically, repositioning itself so his hand was now slightly touching her.

The rest of him though hadn't moved an inch, reminding Stella immediately of the times he had been waiting with her in court. He had done the exact same thing, had completely subconsciously held his arm around her and often hadn't even realized that he had done so at all.

Sensing that he had turned to face her, she brought her focus back to him, their eyes connecting, holding on for a long intense moment. Without a spoken word having been exchanged he then shifted his attention back to Lindsay, going on with listening to her quite engaging story.

Stella's gaze, however, remained on him, studying him, her eyes turning even softer when she noticed his hand closing around her shoulder in an unintentional but somehow inevitable movement. It was again completely driven by his subconscious and with her eyes still fixed on him, she felt her lips curl into a smile. Not only over his absent motions but also over him, over his relaxation, the satisfaction that was so visible in his every gesture, so audible in his every word.

Ever since Claire's death she had scarcely seen him like that, knowing that he simply didn't allow himself to show that part of him because it made him vulnerable, exposed him emotionally. Tonight, however, the comfort and the ease he felt were far bigger than his inner fears. He evidently felt safe and that sent a strange but soothing shiver running through her body.

Yet she wasn't able to pursue its origin any further since an outburst of laughter reached her ears.

Laughter that she had no clue what it was about but that was also coming from Mac, the profound, full sound of it increasing that calming sensation inside of her.

It was not a polite or forced laugh, it was a laugh that came from deep within him, that was laughed because he had the desire to, that portrayed his sheer carelessness, his happiness, a laugh that she couldn't remember when she had last heard it.

It definitely had been an awfully long time, too long a time for her taste and listening to it now she realized that she had missed it. Missed it like she had missed those cheerful evenings, those with friends and those they sometimes had spent only the two of them, those evenings on which nothing in the world mattered; on which they – her and him – could permit themselves to forget. Forget about their jobs, the cruel reality of life, about his inner demons; simply everything that interfered with a careless and humorous time.

"Shouldn't it be your turn now, Mac?" Lindsay's voice cut through the fading laughter, only a hint of cautiousness detectable over addressing her boss, making it obvious that tonight it was above all a friend she was talking to.

Just like the other's, Mac's laughter became subdued, his gaze wandering around the table as he considered whether to have overheard Lindsay's gentle request or not. Yet the expectance he found on his friends' faces made it quite clear that everyone was agreeing with her and he realized that he would not stand a chance with whatever excuse he could fabricate.

His lips curved into a surrendering smile and he was about to admit defeat when he noticed the somewhat persisting glare coming from Stella.

He turned, finding her eyes almost boring into him, the green having begun to glow like a cat's eyes and he immediately knew without a doubt what was on her mind. Knew what story she wanted him to tell and that she would either lead him there or tell herself if he wouldn't.

Nevertheless he shot her a warning look daring her to say something yet the glow of her eyes seemed to become only more intense, his attempt at a more threatening stare appearing to make her eyes spark even more.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you everyone for the kind reviews and alerts on the first part.

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For a brief second he found himself wondering if that was what it was like to be hypnotized; her gaze, the color of her eyes were downright intriguing, captivating, making him feel as if he was incapable of tearing away, as if his own will had completely vanished.

Something that he would normally be quite uncomfortable about, that no other women had been actually capable of causing, that he would not have allowed any other women to cause. Not even Claire, because it simply made him too vulnerable, took away too much of his control, however, he had to admit that it was everything but unpleasant. Just like the desire that flared up inside of him, a desire he had considered himself to be too old to be feeling, yet he very obviously wasn't, the sensation so clear, so unmistakable.

It was making it so utterly difficult for him to tear away from her eyes and he felt like an eternity had passed until he finally did, a different thought crossing his mind that same instant. Yet none of the comments he had feared to hear were thrown at him, he and Stella and their flirtatious actions being downright ignored by the other four. His "big secret", the story that he was so reluctant to share, seemed to be of a lot more interest and it was that which was humorously debated by his friends.

Not entirely sure what to make of that he stole a glance at Stella. She was listening to the intense chatter, a smile playing around her lips. A smile that so clearly showed that she knew more than everyone else. A smile that was somewhat triumphant, emphasizing her certainty of having won the battle with Mac.

He would tell that story and technically it was nothing to be ashamed of, something that probably had already happened to each of them before in one way or another. Yet it was something he had not planned on sharing with any of the present tonight. In fact, he had not even planned on sharing it with Stella back then.

But he had and in retrospect he was glad for it – regardless of the current situation. The evening alone had been fantastic, had been quite similar to that one actually; they both had been spent nevertheless they had ended up talking until dawn – at her place.

It had in fact been the first time he had been there and despite her conviction did she not once seem to have had any doubts about bringing him there. To this day that night was in so many ways special to the both of them, had marked a change in their relationship, was the point from which on they knew that they trusted each other with their lives, knew they would never trust anyone more than they trusted each other.

Regardless, he would make her pay back for having pushed him into that corner. Revenge was after all something sweet, his eyes already lighting up a bit at the prospect when his gaze fell on her root beer. For now that could do and out of mere provocation he reached for it. He took a sip then stared at the bottle in his hand, deciding that he could very well empty it just like she had earlier emptied his drink.

Once he had, a look of great satisfaction crossed his face and without any rush he set the bottle back down, eventually turning to face her, his eyes lingering on her for a moment.

"I'll make you regret that," he murmured inside her ear in that slightly husky voice of his, causing her stomach to flip flop yet she pretended not to notice.

"I didn't do anything," she pointed out coquettishly, turning to face him and for a second their gazes held on to each other, an unpreventable excitement arising inside of them.

There was a certain fire in her eyes that he secretly adored, loved to see, could spend hours watching but he drew his look away from hers, to start the story everyone was waiting for.

The more he got into it, the more he realized how good it felt, how the others were visibly enjoying his story, at last seeing a side of their boss they hadn't known about. They gave him his share of teasing without any reserve and he stood up to it, taking as much pleasure out of it as they did. A downright liberating feeling spread through his body and suddenly overcome with gratefulness that she had made him tell, he gently squeezed her shoulder.

Perfectly understanding his gesture, she simply smiled to herself but otherwise didn't show a sign of reaction, continuing to run her finger over the bottle in front of her, tracing the water drops. She started to peel off the label as Mac's story moved towards the end, the conversation slowly shifting away from him and on to her. After a few minutes, she was, of course, required to tell a story as well and did so willingly, choosing one from when she had still been at the Police Academy. It didn't take long until her engaging narration had everyone laughing, a rather silly discussion evolving from it. Involved in the fun she reached for her root beer, lifting the bottle to her mouth and as she found it to be empty, lowered it again, staring at it in puzzlement.

She knew for sure that she hadn't finished it and after another moment of deliberation she turned to Mac who appeared not to notice, quite occupied in the ongoing discussion, listening intensely. Too intensely for her taste and she kept her eyes fixed on him, knowing he would feel it. He did, finally not able to resist her any longer, a look of oblivion on his face and even though Stella didn't fall for it, she struggled to keep from breaking into a grin. Instead it was Mac who did, incapable to uphold his pretense any longer, his face lighting up with an uncommon but huge smirk.

"You drank my root beer," she stated the obvious still fighting to conceal her own amusement over it, only partially successful.

"Why would I do that?" he inquired, his voice surprisingly serious, his features now faking question yet his eyes were twinkling betraying.

"Because you accidently locked your manners away with the last evidence?" she countered, raising a brow at him and even though it was a question, she wasn't really asking.

"You should know me better," he purred into her ear and she couldn't help thinking that tonight she didn't seem to know him at all.

Briefly she considered the possibility that he might be drunk all the while sure that he wasn't. He couldn't be because he had only had one beer like she had and was now nursing a soft drink. Or rather he had been since he had finished it after he had emptied her root beer.

"Maybe I don't," she hinted, staring slyly into his eyes, the corners of her mouth curled into an ambiguous smile.

"Then we have all night long to change that," Mac answered, his tone low, mirroring the ambiguity of her features but the humorous spark in his eyes had disappeared.

Almost instantly her smile vanished from her face as she began to study his, trying to read him, unsure of how to take his comment, of how to interpret it. She wanted to but was incapable of doing so.

Once more he had caused her mind to go completely blank, the unwelcome sensation of having yet again been caught completely off guard spreading through her body. She was suddenly feeling very self-conscious, unable to regain her composure and almost intimidated she tore her eyes away from Mac.

Oblivious to the meaningful glances which were exchanged by the others, she went back to busying herself with the empty bottle in front of her, concentrating on shedding more of the label. Mac's words kept repeating themselves over and over in her head, a shiver now running over her body as she began to realize that he had meant it. As she slowly comprehended that there was no wrong interpretation. That there was only one, the obvious one; that he was very much ready to go where the path they had agreed to follow was undeniably leading them to.

Without being able to control it, her head turned back to Mac and naturally her eyes met his, instantly locking with his, her heart rate going up almost that same second. She tried to calm it yet there was something in the way he was looking at her, something in the way he seemed to be staring at her lips that wouldn't let her do that.

Quite to the contrary, her heartbeat appeared to quicken, his body's warmth suddenly all too present, the touch of his hand becoming more firm when his head jerked around.

Snapping back into reality with him, Stella saw Danny and Flack standing behind Mac, motioning for him to join them to buy another round of drinks. A little confused Mac turned back to Stella before he got up, hurrying to catch up with the other two who had already disappeared into the general direction of the bar.

Still not fully recovered from the rush of emotions, Stella stared after him, minutes passing before she dragged herself back to reality. Slowly she shifted her attention to Angell and Lindsay, who were both smirking at her, the reason unmistakably written all over their faces.

Incapable and above all unwilling to deny any of it, it didn't take long until Stella grinned at them as well, nevertheless a trace of self-consciousness remained that had her lower her eyes a moment later.

She toyed some more with the empty bottle, shoving it into the middle of the table once the label was completely scraped off and after another second of staring at it she lifted her gaze of it again.

The smirk on Angell's and Lindsay's faces had faded into a warm smile, their features so clearly showing how glad they were for her. At the same time it portrayed that they understood perfectly well that nothing was official yet, that they would leave her alone until she and Mac had come to terms with everything and she offered them a thankful smile.

The three women spent another moment exchanging silent words before Angell launched what quickly turned into a hilarious discussion of the male species and their flaws. Non-existent flaws if you asked them, of course, which was exactly the topic of the lively debate, the three of them so vividly involved in the conversation that they nearly knocked down one of the empty glasses. Neither one cared though and it finally crashed when the men approached, curiosity all over their faces when they saw that all three women had their head stuck under the table.

"Do we want to know what you are doing down there?" Flack inquired as Mac set his and Stella's drink on the table and slipped back next to her.

The heads of the three of them shot up, Angell banging hers in the process, the loud ouch which followed drawing everyone's attention on to her. Flack showed his sympathy with a broad grin, earning a warning glare from his girlfriend, however, it did little to impress him. His smirk turned even wider and Mac instantly had his thoughts go back to Stella, leaning closer without taking his eyes off a teasingly squabbling Flack and Angell.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think he was your brother," he remarked, now shifting his head so he was facing her.

She smirked at him, knowing exactly what he meant, her eyes full of sparks, twinkling playfully, coquettishly and his eyes couldn't help but respond. He stood up to the challenge with ease and for a brief moment their eyes – and only their eyes – were lost in a flirtatious flicker.

The faintest nevertheless most expressive of a smile on their lips they then tore away from one another, finding a humorous debate over men and women to already be in full swing. In that short amount of time Danny and Flack had managed to talk themselves into a dead-end, their attempts to get out of it drawing them even further into a tight spot.

A little skeptic at first, Stella followed the discussion with growing amusement, the hole the two men dug getting deeper and deeper. As she listened to them struggle, she more or less automatically turned to glance at Mac, who, to her surprise did exactly the same. Their eyes met and they exchanged a brief, humor-filled grin before shifting back to the ongoing discussion.

Flack and Danny hadn't gotten anywhere, the two women very obviously enjoying their pushing them more and more into that corner of no return.

"Come on, Stel, help us out here," Flack suddenly addressed her and she looked at him with open eyes, then slowly grinned at him.  
"That would spoil all the fun, wouldn't it?" she smirked, secretly savoring the look of exaggerated misery that crossed his face while she gloatingly leaned back.

She watched him shift his eyes to Mac who quickly raised his palms to signal that he would have nothing to do with it, causing Stella's smirk to broaden. Her head moved towards Mac an instant later and she only subconsciously noticed Flack's overstressed moan, as she was much more distracted by the bewilderment over the action which had happened completely on instincts.

Yet just like earlier, those hadn't failed her, Mac having turned the same second that she had, their eyes meeting for the exchange of another conspiring glance. It simply was fun listening to the four of them quarrel like High School kids and neither had any intention of getting caught in the middle.

By the time they drew away from each other's gazes not long after, Flack's cry for help had already been forgotten, the two men having bonded again to defend their honor. They were still doing a lousy job at that and finally Lindsay and Angell showed mercy, letting them off the hook.

The conversation shifted to the topic of relationships in general but quickly moved on to office gossip, something the three men weren't interested in. They started a separate talk and were completely absorbed in their latest basketball news when Stella felt Mac's arm slip back around her shoulders.

Although she was tempted to, she refrained from glancing at him, a simple smile forming on her lips as she adjusted her position so it would be more comfortable to the both of them. His arm responded, his hand coming to rest on her upper arm and she spent another moment smiling to herself before going back to the conversation.

It wasn't long until the women joined the sports discussion, the topic now having switched to Ice Hockey – but that was something Stella had never quite gotten into. She was unable to follow the chatter, sipping quietly at her drink, feeling her fatigue and exhaustion suddenly catching up with her.

Stifling a yawn, she took another long sip from her root beer, then sunk a little in her seat, slowly letting her head drop on to Mac's shoulder. A bit startled he turned towards her, the warm smile she offered him quickly imitated by him and she noticed him gently squeeze her shoulder before his attention shifted back away from her.

She watched him get involved into the discussion again, listening to the speculation who would be bought by whom for the next season, eventually losing interest though. Keeping her head on Mac's shoulder she reached out for her bottle, starting to peel at that label, pulling layer for layer of the glass.

Slowly the paper piled up on the table and she didn't let go of the bottle until the entire front label had come off. Admiring her work, she became aware of a warm, velvet-like sensation on her arm, gradually realizing that it was Mac's hand that had begun to caress her tenderly.

Carefully she shifted ever so slightly, glancing at him, finding him to be engaged in the conversation that she now noticed had yet again moved on to another topic. As she repositioned her head as it had been, she considered for a moment to rejoin the chatter, then decided otherwise. She simply felt too tired to make an effort of understanding what was talked about.

Instead she just listened, listened to the light voices of her friends, studying them, their changing features, little by little noticing that no one had shown any signs of interest in her and Mac's rather unusual seating arrangement.

It didn't take long for a smile to cross her face as she began to comprehend, wondering for how long they had known. For how long they had been aware of something that must have been so obvious. So obvious to everyone – everyone but them; Mac and her.

A tremendous warmth spread through her body and she cuddled a little deeper into Mac's arms, inhaling his scent, allowing her eyes to close for an instant. She knew she would be better off going home, the thought of a hot, relaxing shower and her bed truly appealing yet for that she would have to get out of Mac's embrace – the contemplation alone quite appalling.

"Should I let you fall asleep or take you home first?" Mac's hushed voice made her suddenly jerk in surprise.

Slowly she opened her fatigue-clouded eyes and turned towards him in a delayed reaction.

"I am fine," she assured, adjusting her position so she could better look at him without having to lift her head off his shoulder. "Just a little tired," she added with a slight shrug.

"That's exactly my point," he stated matter-of-factly, nonetheless amused over her apparent state of mind.

"Really, I am ok," she promised once again, evading his scrutinizing gaze after a moment.

While the bar might not have been her preferred choice of location to be snuggled into someone's arms, she couldn't think of a place she would rather be right now. The fact that she was sitting in his embrace made this spot as perfect as any and with the way he was enjoying himself, she certainly didn't want him to feel obliged to leave before he was ready to.

"You don't need to take me home anyway," she offered a little hesitant.

"So, you'd prefer to fall asleep in a bar?" he asked in a mixture of earnest confusion and amusement.

"I am over 21, Mac," she reminded him slightly mocking yet with a warm smile on her lips. "If I have the wish to go home, I am pretty sure I can manage to grab a cab," she added in a serious but teasing tone, not truly convincing him, however.

He certainly didn't think she was unable to hail a cab, no New Yorker was, it was more or less part of what you learnt in kindergarten, the survivor rule number one, the very definition of a New Yorker.

But he knew that she was tired and even though it always seemed to attract a crowd, the bar wasn't precisely in what could be called a frequented neighborhood. Cabs rarely passed and usually one already was required to walk a few blocks to get one on a weeknight. With a lot of taxis being constantly unavailable and most of them concentrating on the more frequented and lucrative tourist areas on a Friday or Saturday night it would take close to an eternity for her to succeed. There was no way he would let her march around for a while, so with his decision made, he emptied his drink and lifted his hand off her shoulder.

She immediately felt a longing for its warmth to return, unable to keep the light, cold shiver from running through her body and determined not to give in, she didn't move. Yet he did, his shifting making her uncomfortable so she didn't have a choice but to lift her head off his shoulder. Knowing it was what he had waited for, she reluctantly sat back up, reaching for his arm as she was about to stand up.

"Mac, don't be difficult," she tried again, the frown he offered her telling her that he hadn't grasped the humor in her comment.

"You are the one refusing to be taken home," he pointed out, his brows raised before she had a chance to say anything else. "Even though we already agreed that I would."

"We didn't agree on anything," she corrected him, watching as he began to object but refrained from doing so, knowing that she was right.

Technically they had never agreed on anything verbally, it had all been part of their silent agreement yet because it hadn't been put into words he was aware of his difficulty to argue with her. After all she was working in the same business as he was and he knew her well enough to be aware that she would challenge him just for the sake of it. Nevertheless he wasn't willing to admit defeat just yet.

"Please Mac," she implored, aware of his thoughts. "Stay. Have some more fun. Enjoy yourself."

She looked at him seriously, her eyes seeming huge, beseeching, begging him. A part of her wanted, of course, to be taken home by him, wanted to be able to be with him some more, in private, away from everyone else. Just the two of them, finally able to sort further through everything that was going on between them, through all of those new emotions.

But the other part still didn't want to tear him away from that evening, that night out he was spending in absolute carelessness, more cheerful than ever before. The thought that it could very possibly be because of her, because of her presence did not occur to her.

The idea was simply still too far fetched yet it didn't make it any less real and he was tempted to tell her. The words were already phrased, ready to be spoken out loud but at the last moment he decided against it, not exactly sure as to why.

On contrary to what he was used to whenever emotions like those surfaced, became undeniable, he wasn't scared by or uncomfortable with the thought. He was solely just as unprepared for the unintended turn their relationship had taken as she was and being the withdrawn guy he was, he simply wasn't ready to express those feelings openly to her. Even less so in front of an audience – which they did have no matter how involved everyone was in their own conversations.

"I am tired myself, Stella," he therefore only said, holding on to her scrutinizing gaze. His statement was not a complete lie yet it was not entirely true either. At least he was not so tired that he would have considered leaving at this point and obviously pondering his credibility she studied him.

The fact that he had gone through the same stressful week she had was indisputable and she had to admit that he did look somewhat tired. Nevertheless there was something inside her, that little voice set aside for women, which told her that his fatigue would not have been an issue had it not been for her.

Still there was nothing she could back her theory up with and he had very clearly made up his mind, so she finally relented, knowing that she wouldn't stand a chance arguing with him any further.

"You are officially impossible," she scolded, narrowing her eyes at him, a smile on her lips.

Satisfied that he had won, he replied with a plain smirk, the chatter around them coming to an immediate halt as they got up, all eyes shifting to her and Mac.

"Are you leaving already?" Lindsay wanted to know, apparently a bit disappointed over that.

"You two have a date or something?" Flack inquired next, before either one of them was able to answer the previous question. It was one of his usual casual comments nonetheless part of his voice portrayed true curiosity.

"No, the bathroom will do for now," Stella replied wickedly, her lips now curled into a sly smile, her eyes sparking in mischief.

Considering how tired she had felt minutes earlier and still did, she herself was surprised at how fast that response had come to her but she surely didn't let on to it. Instead she firmly held on to Flack's eyes, unaware of the skeptic look Mac threw her before he shifted his gaze to a rather stunned Flack.

Stella's retort had without a doubt baffled him and even though Mac of all people knew how unlikely the mere notion would have been, her entire statement had been voiced with such a conviction that even he had had to think for a brief second whether she was actually serious or not.

"Relax Flack," Stella reassured him, smiling lightly. "The only date I have is with my shower," she explained matter-of-factly, not able to keep from stealing a quick, undetectable glance at Mac as if she needed confirmation from him, "and my bed to follow it up with. – Alone," she felt compelled to add, emphasizing it, her words sounding a lot more certain about that than she really was, her heartbeat quickening involuntarily.

Refraining from glancing at Mac again, she forced herself to look anywhere but him as she put on her light jacket, the two of them then saying their goodbyes.

Her eyes lingering on Flack's longer than necessary, Stella wondered if he really thought it possible that she and Mac would have done what she had implied. After all she considered neither him nor her the bathroom-kind but even if only for a short time, the shock had still been evident in Flack's face. The mere thought made the image reappear in her mind and she had to fight to resist the new smile that wanted to cross her face.

The mischievous spark still in her eyes, Stella tore her gaze away from the table and deeming it safe, turned to Mac. She put a hand on his forearm to signal him that she was ready to leave and they began to shuffle through the crowd, her hand gliding from his arm, brushing his hand in the process. The feathery touch sent a pleasant shiver through their hands, up their arms, to their heart and for an instant it seemed as if their fingers were about to lightly intertwine yet they both pulled away before that happened.

"You go ahead, I'll be out in a minute," Stella heard Mac's voice close to her ear once they had reached the bar.

He wouldn't have had to lean in as far as he had but she couldn't say that she was bothered by it and slowing her steps she granted herself a second to enjoy the tingling sensation that his husky voice had caused. When she finally did turn to question him what he was doing, Mac was already heading for the door with the sign that read "restrooms" attached to it.

She watched him squeeze past the many people, avoiding a beer glass here and there, raising his brows at an obviously drunk woman whose hand had aimed for but missed his butt. Inevitably Stella's lips formed into a smirk and with an amused shake of her head she continued to maneuver towards the door.

The opportunity to point out to him once more that she would gladly have taken a cab – truth or not – had passed and recognizing her not unwelcome defeat, she stepped outside an instant later.


	3. Chapter 3

I am sorry that the posting of that chapter took a little bit longer. I lost the courage to post it – which is partly also due to the great reviews I got. I don't want to disappoint anyone and I thank you for all the alerts and reviews!!

I actually thought about changing switching parts of the story around half way through the week but in the end I didn't and I obviously re-found the courage, although I am a lot less confident.

Thanks to Lily Moonlight for listening to my rambling and worrying.

**Author's warning:** This chapter has some descriptions of violence in it, which some readers might find uncomfortable.

If you do readon, I want you to know that I wrote that chapter not because I was getting any pleasure out of it but because it is part of the story. It is written the way it is because I tried to make it as realistic as possible.

I am sorry if you have a problem with the probably somewhat graphic style and I discourage you from reading on if you might think you will.

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A chilly breeze cooled the rather mild night as it had for the past days and she stopped right behind the door, gazing up the few steps which lead from the entrance on to street level. Pulling her jacket a little closer, she began to climb the stairs, coming to a hesitant halt again once she was up. There was not a single person anywhere to be seen, the sidewalks were completely deserted and could easily have been mistaken for a wide back alley.

The comfort that she had constantly felt until then was immediately replaced by uneasiness and for a brief second she considered waiting for Mac instead of already walking to the car. He hadn't handed her the car key in the first place which would even justify her decision, a reason he couldn't tease her about like he certainly would – in his own way – if she would explain that her wait had been due to a weird feeling to her stomach.

If she was honest she would have a blast teasing him or anyone in their profession if the situation were reversed. As a cop you didn't let a wobbly emotion get to you, didn't let it keep you from walking down a street a night when you were confronted with as much cruelty each day as they were. On the other hand, no one could argue that it was that same job which provided all of them with enough insights on what could happen on streets like that and she figured it did give her the right to not be entirely comfortable; granted her the right to still dislike that walk from the bar even though she had already taken it so many times.

But not to freak out and confirming with a look over her shoulder that Mac was not about to join her, she took a few steps. They were nonetheless hesitant and as much as she tried, she was unable to get rid of the feeling that tonight was different, so she stopped again. Somehow the street felt even more abandoned than usual, completely isolated from any sign of life, no noise, not the quietest of a sound, to be heard, no distant car, no ventilation, not even the scurrying of a rat.

The fact that she was unarmed only added to her anxiety and she pulled at her jacket again, crossing her arms in front of her chest in the process, glancing once more over her shoulder. The majority of the street lamps were dead and the ones which weren't gave little light, were flickering; were casting long, almost creepy shadows on the sidewalk. The wavering of the light had them appear to be moving, dancing, teasing and all of a sudden it made her laugh at herself.

It was like the typical Halloween movie – no matter how cheap the production – and she had to shake her head, not entirely believing that she had fallen for it.

As she resumed her steady walk towards the car she threw another look back to see if Mac was already following but he was nowhere to be seen, causing her to wonder if he had changed his mind. At the same time she knew all too well that it was more likely to snow in the middle of August than that to happen; that he would get her home in any case, no matter what his plans afterwards.

Right now it was probable that he had run into an acquaintance, someone he hadn't seen for a while and was using the opportunity to catch up or he could have gone back to the table to discuss something he had forgotten. Whatever it was, she could be sure that he would wrap it up as fast as possible, so he would be out sooner rather than later so as not to make her wait longer than she absolutely had to.

With the cool breeze coming through the thin fabric of her jacket, she was getting a bit cold, tightening the grip around her. A smile crossed her face at the image of Mac apologizing a million times for having made her wait outside in that unpleasant wind, of how he would probably tell her to send him her doctor's bill should she get sick. For all she knew, with what things were leading up to she would probably end up being taken care of by him in that case.

Not that she would mind – quite the opposite, she had to admit that it was a rather nice thought, all of a sudden realizing that tonight was indeed completely different. It would be in no way like the others, would be incomparable to the innumerable times Mac had already taken her home. Incomparable to those times when they had said good night in the car, when she had so rarely asked him to come up for a cup of coffee or tea and he had even less frequently agreed because they usually had to get up early for work the next day.

Tomorrow they both had the day off but that certainly didn't make that difference. What did was that things had so undeniably, so irreversibly changed between them, that even he had been unwilling to fight it and she only now comprehended that it gave the entire situation a new meaning. That it turned the rather simple process of being taken home into something far more serious.

All at once she began wondering if Mac did have a change of heart after all. If he had grasped what she just had earlier and simply had used the bathroom as a welcome excuse.

An excuse to delay the inevitable, to delay when he would be alone with her, in the car, with nowhere to go, almost obligated to sort through the load of emotions, detangle it, make loose ends meet. As much as she wanted to, she could not deny that possibility, could not deny the option that his old self had caught up with him and while he had seemed completely at ease minutes ago, he still was who he was.

Tears welled up inside of her unexpectedly, the mere consideration that her theory could be right, bothering her more than she would have thought possible. It was, after all, her best friend, someone she had known for over a decade and never considered to be a potential boyfriend.

Yet all those feelings which had surfaced were not possible to disregard and they had undeniably been walking a thin line for the past days. A thin line between friendship and something more, a thin line that didn't take much to cross; that was easily went over with the tiniest of a step. The tiny step she seemed to have already done back in the bar when she had leaned back into his arm instead of staying away from it. It had seemed like the most natural thing to do but now it was that choice, that single second, that seemingly harmless action, which was why her heart was squeezed with fear.

The fear that she had crossed that said thin line, although she shouldn't have crossed it. That the easiest seeming decision would cost her more than it had been worth and she had to swallow hard to keep the tears from falling.

With the car only inches from her now she hesitantly stopped, shifting so she was able to look down the alley.

The fact that Mac still had not emerged from the bar, had her heartbeat quicken and for another moment she stared into the general direction of the bar, contemplating if she should go back. She decided against it but pulled out her cell phone an instant later, considering it best to leave him a message that she had taken a cab after all.

While it certainly would not settle what had been started between them, it would make him able to enjoy the evening as long as he wanted to without any obligations. Just like she had wanted him to in the first place, a smile crossing her face as she brought up Mac's number.

She was about to make the connection when she suddenly felt someone push her hard from behind, making her stumble a few steps. Her phone was sent flying out of her hand and she could hear it land somewhere in the dark alley she had been shoved towards as she struggled for her balance. Cursing, she wanted to turn around so she had the opportunity to face her attacker, the same moment she was thrust forward again.

The rotated position her body was in didn't give her enough stability and her assailant rammed into her before she had a chance to regain her balance. The bit that was left was immediately gone, her ankle giving in under her awkward stumbling, the heel of her shoe cracking under the pressure of her weight.

Reflexively she flung out her arms in order to break the fall yet her left side hit the pavement much faster than she had anticipated, her body landing hard on the ground. Her tired brain sprang into action, noticing that she had been thrown into the dark alley; all of the little light there had been gone. Shadows remained the only thing she could make out and it took only a split second for her trained mind to grasp the full meaning of the incident.

Being attacked had never been on top of her favorite's list but she hated it even more in a neighborhood like that one, when she was alone, unarmed and knew for a fact that Mac was as well. Inadvertently she found herself thinking that she should have listened to her instincts after all, yet she was just as quick to push that out of her mind. Regretting her choice was not worth the effort of single brain cell since she had made it and obviously been wrong.

But now she had to make another, preferably a better one, to get out of the dilemma she had put herself in to as best as she could and she contemplated her options.

They were few; one to be correct – to fight and hope that her strength lasted until Mac managed to get help to her, desirably rather sooner than later.

It wasn't a plan she was very fond of but it was the only possibility she had and oblivious to both the somewhat awkward position her shoulder had been twisted into and the stinging pain running through her nerves, she started to scramble to her feet.

She was as far as on her knees when something, supposedly an elbow, smashed into her shoulder blade, hurling her back to the concrete, making her incapable of moving for that short, undesirable moment. That undesirable moment which gave her a disadvantage, her arm being grabbed to drag her up, her body being slammed backwards into a building's brick wall only an instant later.

The hit to her ribcage had her gasping for air but it was her head she was majorly concerned with, desperately trying to keep it from banging against the wall as well.

To her own surprise she succeeded, stunning her attacker with her active resistance and for the first time she felt a flicker of hope that she could stand a chance against him. Encouraged by that, she thrust her arms out to break his hold, causing him to let go of her, allowing her to ram an elbow into his side. Yet despite her beliefs he didn't go down and she was forcefully pushed back almost that same instant.

Her ribcage took another hit although not as bad as the previous one and she was quickly able to lunge her knee upward, aiming in between his legs. The kick landed in his stomach instead which was just as good to her since he doubled over with a groan, clutching his belly.

She was about to hit him again when she was swept off her feet, leaving her no time to be stunned over how fast his reaction had come.

Without having the slightest possibility of controlling any part of her fall, her torso smashed into something rock solid she couldn't and didn't care to identify, her body clashing onto the ground only seconds after that. Despite herself she had to allow the pain to sidetrack her for an instant, nevertheless she forced her arms to support her weight when a hand once again clutched her upper arm.

She was brusquely yanked up, her arm being fiercely pulled behind her back and before she was even fully aware of everything she was already being shoved against the wall. Stomach wise this time, her left shoulder colliding first with the building, the rest of her body following.

It hurt but compared to earlier it was negligible and she tried to bounce off the wall as soon as she hit it. However, a large hand was forcibly placed in between her shoulder blades, pressing her at the brick preventing her from doing so. With her arm still held tightly behind her back it further limited her range of movement yet she could feel the heat emanated by her attacker's skin and sure that he was sufficiently close, she lashed out her elbow. Pain stung from her restrained shoulder, but all she was focusing on was the angry grunt coming from her assailant telling her that she had hit a vulnerable spot.

Grabbing the chance her elbow flew out again, once more smashing into his side, another groan echoing through the alley as she felt the grip on her being released. She rammed her elbow into his chin the third time around, hitting him with all of her strength, obliging him to let go of her.

His moan was full of distress and affliction yet she knew that it was only temporary and prepared to continue the battle she turned, a hard punch landing straight in her face that same instant. Caught completely off guard, her head flew sideways, an even more violent punch hitting her before she had the chance to fully recover from the first.

For a second she felt like her head would go right through the wall, all of her senses momentarily blocked. Dizziness which she desperately fought, fogged her mind but was immediately gone when a knee kicked into her stomach, a wave of nausea instantaneously hurling through her every bone.

Breathing hard to compensate the sickness and pain, she reflexively wanted to grab her midsection. It was then that she became aware of the hands clenching her wrists, vigorously pulling up her arms, her assailant inching closer as he did so.

His weight was additionally restraining her, his proximity making her frantic to regain control over her mind and body, panic rising, clouding her rational way of thinking. Her struggling was rather amateurish and insignificant and the urge to cry out for help, to call, to yell for Mac from the top of her lungs surfaced. But it quickly died down when he shoved his body against hers, subduing her futile resistance.

As he shifted his hands, holding her wrists in place with the pressure of his forearm, she closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down, to take a deep breath and think; wrack her brain to utilize what it had been trained for.

She felt his hand opening the buttons of her jacket, the panic increasing yet she ignored it as best as she could, used it, transformed it into strength, strength she knew she wouldn't be able to summon otherwise. Strength that was most powerful when resulting from fear and that now allowed her to thrust up her leg. The agonizing cry that followed confirmed that this time around she had hit exactly where and what she had aimed for with full force – his most private parts.

He immediately let go of her, doubling over in pain, moaning, taking her kick to his groin without a fight, dropping to the ground with simply a louder groan. Yet her success was short-lived, a fist hitting her hard and painfully in the face that same moment.

Stumbling backwards, she realized for the first time that she was apparently dealing with two attackers, only subconsciously noticing that her head collided with the brick as she processed that. She had to take a second blow only instants after the first and again felt the hard stone against her skull, the terrifying thought that she didn't stand a chance momentarily dominating her mind.

Nevertheless her instincts had her fight her imbalance, the vicious hit that prompted giving her the impression that her facial bones were blown into pieces. For a split second everything went black and all she could do was let her battered body fall, her shoulder crashing into the solid object she had collided with before.

As she came back to her full senses, she found herself lying on the ground, wrenched in a somewhat distorted position, anxious to get to her feet again but having difficulties to do so.

Nonetheless she tried, dizziness and pain making it a somewhat excruciating and rather slow procedure, her attempt being cut short when her upper arm was once more grabbed. She was jerked up and violently shoved forward, the edge of whatever solid object it was ramming into her ribs.

Her air supply was cut short and her body responded with a fresh wave of nausea while she was already yanked backwards again, making it impossible for her to even start to recover, her sagged self reminding her of a string-puppet. Yet by now it was all going so fast that she was confined to letting it happen and again she had barely stood upright before she was aggressively thrown forward.

Suffering another hit to her shoulder she was unable to exactly tell what other parts of her body smashed into the brick, pain was all she was temporarily aware of. Despite her efforts to stay alert she briefly felt that complete loss of her senses once more, already seeing herself collapsing to the ground.

However, she didn't, but instead was briskly hauled backwards then furiously thrust forward again, her entire body crashing into the brick wall, her chin and nose hitting the cold stone. She could feel immediately the warmth of her running blood, rough hands gripping her wrists tightly, pulling her arms behind her back, wrenching them upward into an unnatural position.

Unwanted, inevitable tears welled up inside of her over the sharp pain and the frustration, her mind screaming for Mac, willing him to get to her, cursing herself for not having listened to her instincts. It was pointless, she was aware of that, she couldn't undo what had been done and as hopeless as it seemed, she needed to keep her focus. After all there still was that one chance, that tiny possibility that Mac was already close, had already called for help and she clung to it, determined to not give in until it was over in whatever way.

She figured that there was nothing to lose in an already lost battle and with as much strength as she could muster, she tried to jolt at least one of her hands out of the hold. Catching her assailant by surprise, she succeeded, quickly lashing out her elbow yet he seemed to have anticipated that, grasping her arm, twisting it back behind her.

She gasped at the pain which he let spread for that brief moment it needed to travel through her entire body then he lunged forward, ramming his body into hers. Her breath was momentarily cut off, her ribcage feeling like it had been diminished to only inches in diameter and fighting for air she struggled underneath his weight.

"I'll make sure you'll regret that you even thought about fighting us," a surprisingly high, but rather young and very irritated sounding voice hissed inside her ear, before the pressure on her was finally released.

She was breathing hard, desperate to get some air into her lungs, when her arms were jolted further up in a quick, brisk movement. Inevitable tears sprang to her eyes once more as an insufferable pain spread through her every nerve and she was sure she would have collapsed had she not been leaning against the wall. Her consciousness threatened to fade yet another time and she was briefly tempted to give in but didn't, knowing she would blame herself eternally if she did.

The grip on her arms tightening, she was jerked from the wall, if possible increasing the already piercing pain even further, the nausea returning. It was intensified by the now constant taste of blood in her mouth, the spinning of her head not subduing, her vision blacking out but coming back a second later.

The accomplice was standing right in front of her, reaching out for her and she instinctively drew back finding it to be impossible of course. A swift wrench to her left arm dared her to try again, fresh tears welling up as she bit her lip to keep herself from crying out. She didn't want them to know how much pain it caused, even though the constant use of her left arm let her to assume that they were already aware of it anyway. Nevertheless she didn't want to give them the pleasure of making her scream, allowing only a wince to escape her mouth.

Her captor shifted, positioning his legs so that she was unable to kick out, the sound of a belt being unfastened catching her attention. Her heart started to pound so hard she felt like her entire body was shaking from it and she could only watch as her opposite fumbled with his pants. Watch as he exchanged an insidious smile with his partner, her attempts to control her racing heart failing, her mind now beginning to tumble with disorderly thoughts as well.

Frantic to come up with options to prevent the seemingly unpreventable from happening there was not a single thing that came to her mind. The refusal to believe that this time there was no way out was dominating; was masking everything else, was making it impossible for her to think straight.

She felt a rough hand touching her skin as her shirt was pulled up, so the top of her pants was revealed and although her mind knew it was pointless her body began to struggle on its own. It simply refused to accept that it was only a matter of mere minutes now until every women's worst nightmare would turn into reality. That she was about to suffer through something far worse than anything she had lived through so far.

She felt her pants being fidgeted with, her resistance growing even more as she was desperate to move, oblivious to the throbbing pain, trying to free her legs, her arms, her instincts simply searching for ways to get away.

"Stop fighting it already," was angrily but very firmly growled inside her ear yet she didn't, couldn't, couldn't because her mind wouldn't let her, because her body was unwilling to stop – until her arm was violently twisted again.

It felt like it had detached from its joint, the agonizing pain slicing through her bones like a knife, a cry of pain escaping her mouth that was instantly muffled by large hand as her mind went completely blank. She knew that she was about to faint, almost relieved that she wouldn't be conscious during what was to follow yet somehow she didn't. Somehow she stayed awake, awake but paralyzed, staring at the horrific scene that was mercilessly unfolding in front of her eyes. Staring like it was a bad movie you couldn't take your eyes off no matter how bloody, how disgusting the action, stare as she noticed the hand easing from her mouth.

It took her a moment to realize that it was not going back to her pants, that her opposite actually took a step away from her, that he lifted both his hands above his head while he dropped to his knees. That the sound she heard close to her ear was the release of a safety-catch of a gun, that the tight grip around her arms had loosened; that she was in fact free to move and eventually dared to do so. Dared to turn around, to survey her surroundings, slowly, gradually, still unable to grab the full meaning, unable to make sense of the bustling officers, the light that was cast into the alley, the voice – the familiar voice – which barked the Miranda rule at her assailants as they were recklessly led away from her.

Led towards the police cars that were by now parked all over the street and sidewalk, their headlights the source of light, illuminating the two figures escorting the perpetrators. Those two shadows that she thought she knew, that her mind searched a name to, that her mind actually identified as Flack and Angell yet all she did in response was to keep staring. Kept standing frozen in place, afraid that all of it might be a set up by her imagination, could be a mirage, her mind playing tricks on her.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks everyone for reviews and alerts. And as always, thanks Lily - English isn't that easy after all...

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But it wasn't. It was real; all of what she was seeing was actually happening and little by little she began to comprehend. Began to comprehend the full extent of what was going on, began to comprehend that the whole ordeal was truly over, that she was safe, that the unpreventable had been prevented after all.

An enormous sense of relief instantly settled into her body, tears welled up inside of her and closing her eyes, she sank against the wall. That wall which only minutes ago had been a tool of her torment.

Now, however, the hard brick was a welcome support, steadying her weakened self as she was recovering from the hurt it had caused her.

Her urge to cry subsided and she gradually became aware of the increasing busyness around her. Fabrics hustled, shoes were clacking against the pavement as people she assumed to be officers rushed around and barked orders. Orders she normally was familiar with but that she did not understand a single one of right now – and she didn't want to. It was far too exhausting and all at once she was overcome with the desire to crawl into her bed, slowly opening her eyes yet they dropped shut a moment later. Her eyelids were suddenly seeming too heavy, as if they had been filled with lead nevertheless she attempted anew when she felt something touch her, inadvertently jumping at the contact.

She barely heard the gentle "Stella" that was uttered the same instant she jerked her eyes open, her heart racing as she stared at the foggy figure in front of her. It was familiar, she knew that, knew that she knew that voice, however, the hammering of her heart appeared to be all that her brain was noticing.

That and the severe pain that her mind had somehow blocked until then but which was now back at once; was overwhelming her, making her dizzy. Her senses were fading rapidly as her knees weakened, were unable to carry her weight anymore, and she realized that she was under threat of collapse. Reflexively she searched for support, finding none and was about to fall, when two strong hands caught her. She was leaned against the brick wall to steady her and a hand was tenderly run through her curls, caressing her, comforting her as she blinked several times to clear up her hazed vision. The blurred shadow slowly took on forms and again it looked familiar, started to little by little match the voice, finally getting a name.

Yet all she could do was to stare at Mac, trying but failing to say something. Her mind was completely blank before a million thoughts started to race through her head, a million words, phrases, questions. Yet not one of them appeared to make sense and as much as she tried she seemed incapable of forming an understandable sentence, to put even two matching words together, feeling like she was fishing for them but not catching anything worthy at all.

"Where have you been?" she then blurted out, surprising herself with it, her fear, her relief, everything she had been going through mirrored in those few words. The mess of emotions inside of her was pushing her to the verge of tears and she was momentarily incapable of comprehending what exactly she had asked; was oblivious to the accusation that lay in her words.

"I'm so sorry, Stella," Mac whispered, his voice full of sorrow and regret nevertheless it took her another moment until she made the connection. Until she realized the reproach that her statement portrayed, that his was meant as an answer to hers, instantly wishing she could take it back.

"If I had known…." Mac went on, letting the short sentence trail. There was, of course, no way he could have known, yet it didn't make a difference. It didn't take any of the guilt he so obviously felt away, the guilt which even those few words so clearly expressed and sympathy spread through her in response.

She wanted to tell him that she hadn't intended to say what she had, that it was not his fault, that she was simply glad that he had made it on time after all, however, the words eluded her again, the mere process of trying seeming like a huge effort. Too much of an effort for the strength she had left, nevertheless her desire remained – remained even though she knew he would not listen. Would not listen to those words, would not care no matter what she said, would not allow them to ease his self-reproach. It was something they had to deal with later, much later once things had settled but at the moment she had to leave things as they were; had no choice other than to leave him as he was.

Slowly she became aware of a slight pressure applied to her face and she noticed that he was lightly pressing a tissue of some sort against her skin, apparently trying to still the ongoing bleeding. She simply let him, leaning her head at the wall behind her as she closed her tired eyes, feeling his other hand gently cup her cheek, his thumb beginning to brush over it. He was careful not to come in contact with any of her open wounds, tenderly wiping away the wet stains the unnoticed tears had left behind and that she only now became conscious of – not that it mattered. What he was dabbing now was only a very small fraction of what was to follow. Of the tears she would shed in the future, held by his gentle hands, as she knew him well enough that he would not allow otherwise.

Already it were those gentle hands which were tending to her, one of them cautiously lifting the tissue, revealing the bleeding to have considerably subsided but not stilled. Delicately Mac replaced the fabric as his thumb continued its feathery stroking. Gingerly, caring for her like its owner did, causing an immense sense of serenity to surround her, to spread through her, the tension easing from her muscles, her body relaxing, completely handing itself over to his tender guarding.

Handing itself over in sheer exhaustion, wanting to break down right then and there, to collapse into his arms, to cry until there was absolutely nothing left inside. But despite her undeniable need, her indisputable desire, she couldn't; couldn't give in, couldn't break down like she couldn't faint earlier. She was simply lacking the energy to cry; lacking the energy to properly react to her emotions.

To those overwhelming emotions that had piled into a huge dam of fear, of relief, of anxiety and fury, of pain, of helplessness; of simply everything that she thought she had ever felt. A dam which she needed to burst, right now, however, she had neither the strength nor the courage.

Swallowing hard she made an effort at opening her eyes, having to try several times before she was finally able to will her eyelids to stay open. Mac's concerned yet absent eyes were gazing straight into hers and even with the little light there was, the distress over his delayed arrival, over his failure to help her sooner, to protect her was still so very visible in his face. Instinctively she shifted, ignoring the pain as she cautiously, gradually began to lift her arm. Tenderly she placed her hand over Mac's, his look briefly switching to their joined hands before returning to her, her fingers gently slipping between his.

"It's not your fault, Mac," she assured tonelessly, her breathing labored, squeezing his hand consolingly.

For a moment they remained motionless, his soft gaze holding on to hers, studying hers almost searchingly as he got lost in his own thoughts again. He slowly drew his hand away from underneath of hers, placing it above hers to guide it downward. Carefully he then lifted the tissue off her face, relieved to see that the bleeding had stopped, throwing the at this point blood-soaked fabric away.

"I hope you're going to pick that up later," she remarked, the teasing she had aimed for totally overshadowed by pure weariness.

As was to be expected, he didn't reply and she watched him take off his jacket in silence, caringly placing it around her shoulders. His gesture made her realize suddenly how cold she was, a light shiver actually running through her body, increasing now that she was aware of it. She observed Mac as he cautiously tugged his jacket tight in front of her, offering him a grateful smile in response.

He briefly returned it, dropping his hands, inspecting her wounds to make sure they had definitely stopped bleeding, turning towards the street in very obvious deliberation. When he shifted his gaze back to her concern was written all over his face and he studied her for another moment.

"I'm fine, Mac," she assured him, her breaking voice betraying her. "I can walk."

Her eyes were directly looking into his, seeing the doubts which quickly took over his expression yet she didn't yield.

"I think we should wait here," he urged, obviously thinking that she wasn't fit enough for the distance.

She wasn't so sure herself, the mere thought of walking was already exhausting her, but she nevertheless pushed herself from the wall. Immediately she felt how shaky she was, felt her head begin to spin, her stomach contracting and a little unsure she glanced at Mac. He had quickly caught on to her momentary fragility and was already slipping his arm around her waist to steady her, his careful grip making her wince instantly. The ache she had believed to have decreased, was painfully reminding her of its presence, intensifying in a split second paralyzing her for a bit longer than that.

Only subconsciously was she aware of Mac offering an apology, drawing his arm away and hurriedly replacing it as she swayed once more. Realizing for the first time that it was apparently not only her face that had sustained severe damage, he wanted to help her sit yet she refused. She couldn't exactly tell why, she knew that it would be easier on her body if she did, however, her mind didn't respond to that; seemed incapable of understanding.

"Stella, you're injured," he tenderly attempted to reason with her, softly placing a hand back on her cheek.

"I'm ok, Mac," she assured once more, ignoring the crawling pain and its slow but steady increase.

Her breathing had calmed again yet a bit of dizziness remained and he was obviously not convinced, his skeptic eyes looking at her. He was downright glaring at her and she was glad that he wasn't directly glancing into her eyes, knowing she wouldn't have been able to withstand it.

She began to wonder whether she was capable of even focusing as right now it didn't seem like it, the lightheadedness refusing to ease. His scrutinizing gaze started to make her uncomfortable, started to make her feel as if he was trying to see straight into her despite the lack of direct eye contact and she searched for a away to evade him, distraction seeming her only option.

"I really am fine," she therefore lied, however, his eyes shifting on to hers and the frown his features turned in to, told her that he did not believe her at all. "At least I'm fine enough to walk to the car," she added quietly, the idea that she would have to leave the support of the wall rather discomforting.

Nevertheless she forced herself away from the stone, an unexpected wave of nausea hitting her, the pain rapidly intensifying, spreading to her every nerve, breathing becoming difficult again.

Her gasps for air were shallow and fast and she was desperate to calm that, take deeper breaths when she suddenly had the impression that the concrete had begun to sway; it felt like being on one of those suspension bridges, with her surroundings starting to spin as well.

She was quickly losing her grounding, aimlessly reaching out for something, someone, anything she could hold on to when two steady hands kept her from falling – again – with a voice, a deep, soothing voice, calling out to her, pleading her.

Pleading her to stay awake, to stay with him, and she wanted to assure him that she would, wanted to promise that there was nothing to worry about, that she had just been a little dizzy yet not a word, not a sound was coming out of her mouth. As much as she tried she couldn't bring herself to respond, couldn't bring her eyes to open, the simple task of that suddenly seeming impossible.

The hammering of her heart was echoing in her head, drowning the words, the thoughts. The pain and exhaustion were getting stronger and she felt herself drift further away, unconsciousness threatening to take advantage of her weakened body.

Yet she was unwilling to let it, was fighting to stay awake, alert, being rewarded eventually with her senses slowly being restored, the sickening metallic taste in her mouth being the first thing she noticed. Her throat was awfully dry and she was suddenly yearning for something liquid, swallowing several times in the hope to still her need. Naturally, it didn't work, seeming to make it only worse, the taste of blood appearing to get only more intense, her attempts to will her eyes to open still unsuccessful.

"I'm thirsty," she then heard herself murmur, her voice sounding distant to her, just as Mac's did when he gently suggested she should sit an instant after that.

The thought was inviting nonetheless she didn't want to; didn't want to have to move, didn't want to have to leave the support of the wall. Leaning against it with Mac's arms around her she felt safe and she attempted to tell him. To let him know so he would be quiet; so he would stop asking her to please sit down yet the words she needed didn't come to her.

"I'm thirsty," she instead mumbled again, aware of Mac's hand shifting to her neck feeling for her pulse.

A second later she involuntarily jolted when he inquired about the whereabouts of the ambulance, his voice seeming so awfully loud next to her and she wanted to tell him that she was fine, that she didn't need an ambulance. That all she needed was something to drink, some water and a blanket, so she would finally stop freezing yet again her brain and body refused to cooperate. Were completely disobeying her, her heart still racing when standing upright was all of a sudden becoming an excruciating effort, the weight of her self too much for her to support.

She broke into a cold sweat, the pain, the cold, the nausea increasing to an overwhelming level, darkness out of nowhere inching closer, engulfing her, clouding her mind once more, luring her into a void of nothingness. Tempting her, promising her to take away her pain, her nausea, promising to make her warm, willing to grant her some peace and quietness for a little while at least but as much as part of her wanted to, she was unable to give in.

She simply could not allow the darkness to swallow her and she was incapable of drowning out that one persisting noise. That one sound which stood out from the others, that kept echoing in her ear so unrelentingly, tearing her further away from the unconsciousness again. Tearing her away from that lonely emptiness, that undesirable place of complete oblivion.

Nonetheless her eyes refused to open, her mind fighting her will but she insisted; obliged them, forced them. It took her a lot of energy but eventually she got her eyes to obey, her eyelids fluttering open and she blinked a few times as she had to adjust her hazed vision.

Disoriented she glanced around, incapable of making sense of where she was and she blinked some more, gradually becoming aware of lying with her head resting on an arm. A strong hand was slightly tapping against her cheek; a strong hand that she knew was familiar, knew who it had to belong to and she slowly shifted her gaze. Her eyes wandered over the red-shirted chest on to Mac's face, finding his eyes to be still so full of worry and for a moment her gaze hung on his until she noticed that his mouth was moving. That he was saying something, repeating something, over and over, his voice becoming clearer, the letters finally starting to make sense, connecting to a word, to her name that he was softly calling.

".. on Stella!" he repeated yet again, his eyes boring into hers. "Stella, come on! – Stella! – Stella, do you hear me? You have to stay with me, you have to keep fighting!"

She noticed the intensity in his words yet she was unable to really comprehend what he was saying, continuing to stare into his fierce, pleading look. Her mind was still longing for something to drink and mumbling an almost inaudible request for water she turned her head in search of it, attempting to sit up rather uncoordinatedly.

An unbearable pain instantly shot through her body like a million bees stinging every inch of her muscles, her vision blurring once more as everything around her began to spin anew. Again her consciousness threatened to faint, the dark fog quick to close in on her, to pull at her all over again, pulling at her slowly but steadily, like an excited child who wouldn't let go of her hand until she had seen what it wanted to show her.

She resisted it, tried to free herself of its grip yet with each time she managed to get it a bit loser it seemed to tighten even more an instant later. The struggle was becoming harder, an effort she was sure she couldn't uphold much longer when something reached her. A distant sound, nothing more than a mere echo nonetheless it was drawing her in the opposite direction, away from the darkness, continuously, effectively.

It grew more and more distinguishable, something else suddenly present as well, a second sound, a lot weaker and quieter but definitely another voice, more words, words that she could, then couldn't understand, the language familiar yet strangely foreign. She couldn't exactly tell how so, nevertheless it was different, different from that so persisting voice which kept pulling at her, carrying her, encouraging her that she could do it, could stay conscious at least until the ambulance arrived.

She could, of course, she could, she knew that, she was strong, a fighter, she could manage that simple task of staying conscious; she could do that even though her eyes still wouldn't obey and open.

But by now a mixture of noises was forcing its way to her ear, a mixture of sounds, of words, someone mumbling something about hurting, about being thirsty, about being cold. She became aware of herself wondering about that voice, who it could belong to, then she felt herself shiver, very slowly beginning to realize that it was her. Her voice murmuring random words in a combination of Greek and English, her mind actually unable to differentiate or control any of it.

Her eyelids started to flutter and she finally managed to force them open, staring directly into Mac's face, seeing his lips curving into a relieved smile. She noticed that she was still embedded on his knees, her head resting in the curve of his arm, his hand carefully cupped around her chin. One thumb was ever so slightly caressing her cheek, while his other one tenderly brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes, freeing them from the blood crusted wound they had begun to stick to.

Gingerly he let the back of his fingers run over her forehead, his eyes holding on to hers, boring into hers with an intensity that was rarely to be seen in them, almost willing, forcing her eyes to stay open. Transmitting her part of his energy, a part of the strength she needed to stay conscious, making it difficult for her to tear away. But it didn't take too long until her fatigue had regained the upper hand, her eyes closing almost on their own, however, she was able to re-open them after a few moments.

"Did someone check on that damn ambulance?" Mac's distant nonetheless dreadfully loud voice rang in her ears, an undeniable hint of impatience, of anxiety in his otherwise calm tone.

"It's on its way," came the reply from somewhere further away, from another familiar voice, yet she was too exhausted to bother to match it to a name. "They were stuck in traffic – accident over on…"

The name of the street was lost in Mac's quiet cursing of the Manhattan traffic as he turned his attention back to Stella, his concerned eyes studying her face. Pain was filling them, guilt joining it a second later. Guilt she wanted to ease yet she was too weak to even find words to do so.

"I'm sorry, Stella," she heard him whisper, expressing the guilt that had become visible in his eyes, the tips of his fingers so tenderly, feathery, floating over her forehead. "So, so sorry," he added barely audible, the ache he felt present in every single letter. So present that anyone who would have doubted that he truly meant it did have no other choice but believe him now.

She swallowed, once more wishing she were able to bring herself to at least say something, longing to touch him, to grasp his hand, to caress his cheek in reassurance. But looking at him was all that her strength held out for, everything else was a tremendous strain, almost too much to ask for, to even think about.

"I'm cold," she mumbled scarcely audible, the words sounding distant to her, sounding like they had not come from her in the first place, her eyes closing – again more or less on their own.

"The ambulance is going to be here soon," Mac promised caringly, his one hand still gently stroking her forehead, the other one carefully adjusting the blanket she only now noticed she was covered with.

She tried to remember when that had happened, unable to figure it out, concluding that it didn't matter anyway. All that did matter was the fact that it was there, around her, to warm her and ease her constant quivering. Yet despite of all the fabric wrapped around her, her body refused to get warm, appearing to get only colder instead.

"Mac," she muttered in barely a whisper, opening her eyes again, shifting her gaze in search of him, her vision now completely blurred.

"I'm right here," Mac's calm voice assured her, his fingers caressing her continuously, watching as her eyelids dropped shut all over again.

"I'm… cold," she repeated weakly, willing her eyes to reopen, forced them, obliged them.

Yet her efforts were unanswered, her senses slowly fading, her strength, her willpower, her determination being taken with them; being sucked into that huge void, that nothingness she was mercilessly dragged towards. Her grip was slipping from everything she tried to grasp, slipped even from Mac's voice; that one thing she had been able to cling to, that had been able to hold her.

But now it was becoming more and more distant, gradually blending into the indistinguishable blur of noises; those noises which were fading constantly, fading as the hand of darkness grew. As it surrounded her menacingly, clutched her ankles, her wrists, wound its long, greedy fingers around her legs and arms.

She was desperate to free herself, frantically trying to scrape those cold, damp fingers off of her body, however it was a fruitless struggle. There simply seemed to be too many of those, snaking around her body, restraining her in their slings of darkness, draining her of the little energy she had left. Effortlessly they reached her shoulders, slipping around her head, covering her ears, diminishing Mac's voice to an indistinct echo.

Nevertheless it still was an echo, a thin string her imprisoned body was able to hold on to and that the hands of darkness were already rushing toward. Only instants later they hungrily clipped that last connection and her body sagged into Mac's arms as she finally lost consciousness.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you, everyone, again for the great reviews and alerts!!!

This one is the shortest chapter. It was actually a late addition, written on suggestion by Lily Moonlight. I was reluctant at first to add it, mainly because I already had moved on from that story, but it came together quite easily and now I'm really glad I put it in.

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The muffled sound of the siren of the ambulance was hardly audible as the hammering of Mac's heart was still pounding in his ears. His eyes were glued to the small monitor that now showed stable numbers yet it was that same monitor that had almost given him a heart attack not even two minutes ago. Out of nowhere the numbers had started to rapidly drop then had shot up, her circulation completely off. Panic had quickly taken a hold of him and it had felt like an eternity until she had stabilized again – even though it had been hardly thirty seconds.

While the paramedic who was riding in the back with him had breathed a small sigh of relief, the concern had already vanished from her face. Yet Mac was sure that he had still enough worry for the both of them engraved in his features, the fear that continued to reign inside of him only slowly easing.

Blinking for what felt like the first time in the last couple of minutes his eyes finally readjusted on the battered body in front of him, seeming to take exactly the same spot they had held before – her eyes. Her closed eyes that he had been gazing at ever since they had dropped shut and not fluttered open.

He knew that it would not help to stare at them, knew that somewhere in the back of his mind yet it was too far. Too far for him to pay attention to it, to care about it, the worry that he might miss the moment she would open her eyes much too present to allow any other thoughts.

It was unlikely to happen any time soon but unlikely meant it was still possible and except for that brief moment of panic, her eyes was all he had concentrated on. Even as they were closed, they were able to completely consume him and it was because of them that he had been unable to answer any of the questions he had been bombarded with by the paramedics.

He had heard them, had known that he had been talked to yet he had not comprehended a single word of what had been said. All that his mind had been capable of doing, had cared to do, was stare at the woman in front of him.

It was Flack who had answered the questions in his place, something Mac normally would not have tolerated. In his opinion, incapability to focus was a weakness – after all it could mean their life – but he could not have cared less. He had even been close to be overtaken by impatience, another trait that he usually had a hard time accepting, when he had almost yelled at the paramedics to hurry up. They simply had appeared to take for forever and just standing there, holding her hand had made him feel utterly helpless; so completely useless.

He wasn't accustomed to being passive; to being condemned to do nothing but watch yet he didn't have a choice. Everything that was happening to and around her was out of his range of comprehension and even worse out of his control. There was not a single thing he could have done, nothing other than what he already did and had done since she had collapsed into his arms – hold her hand. But it was what had been driving him crazy and it had taken all of his professional sense of responsibility to keep his calm.

Yet in the end he had; had refrained from shouting at the paramedics; had refrained from doing so for her. It would not have done her any good if he had lost his patience and he had forced his surging emotions into a different direction, silently continuing to hold on to Stella's hand.

That hand that was still lying in his. That cold hand that did not seem to have warmed a bit from the time when he had taken it and that his eyes now moved to. He found his strong fingers to be almost delicately intertwined with those lean ones which belonged to Stella. Those fingers that had such a confident grip, that could be firm and rough if they had to be but that he knew, could be just as caring and tender. Those fingers which now looked too small and fragile exactly like the body in front of him.

The slender figure which belonged to the strongest woman he knew yet that now was looking so oddly frail, the entire image utterly wrong. A complete fraud – but it was nevertheless the cruel, twisted reality.

Briefly he glanced at the monitor, making sure that everything was still how it was supposed to be before his eyes went back to her. Carefully, almost as if he was afraid he'd hurt her they wandered over her body, something they had done so several times before, in the alley, when she had been lying on the stretcher and he had spent the past minutes staring at her. Yet it was only now that he truly saw; that his mind truly comprehended what it saw, a shiver running through his body.

Most of her was covered with a blanket and he felt a sense of relief spreading through his body. He wasn't sure if he wanted to see more than he was able, if he could stand to see more or if it would make him jump to the front and drive the ambulance himself, so it would go faster.

Her face was blood encrusted, the fight and tears having smeared it in addition to the natural blood flow. Bruises, stains and actually wounds were hard to tell apart, her skin ghostly pale in the light of the ambulance. The crimson of the blood was glowing, standing out in a bright contrast to the whiteness and he felt his eyes moistening as an incredible guilt sneaked back into his mind.

Aiming for the restroom, which now seemed like months ago, he had thought of nothing bad. Quite the contrary, he had noticed a rather odd sense of comfort, an excitement filling his heart, spreading through his body. The notion of taking her home had suddenly shone in a totally different light; it wasn't the friendly gesture anymore that it used to be. That it had been until the moment she had leaned back against his arm and he had left it there instead of withdrawing it. It had been a small action of hers, a decision he had taken without even thinking about it, nevertheless it seemed that they had changed their future with it entirely.

Strangely, that thought had not the least scared him; had not freaked him out like it would have so many times before. Like it even had when he had first started seriously dating Claire. It had triggered some emotions yet it had also been the most natural thing to do, and all that he had felt had been a growing anticipation that had been anything but unpleasant.

It had actually lifted his spirits even further and as he had maneuvered his way through the crowd he had even allowed his imagination to run a little wild – for his standards at least. With an increasing heartbeat he had more and more daringly considered the options of how that night would end – not a single one of them including that they would end up in an ambulance with her lying unconscious on that stretcher, recovering from what could have been a fight for her life.

But that was the reality rather than any of what had gone through his mind when he had heard someone call his name as he had been on his way out. Of course, had he known what had started outside that same moment he had turned, he would not have wasted a single movement to do so. However, he hadn't known, couldn't have and he had turned, finding that the voice belonged to an old colleague and friend of his from the Marines.

He had acknowledged his old pal as he had motioned for him to come over and after a hesitant glance to the door, he had done so. All that he had intended for had been a quick hello but with his usual reserved self still being buried under a tumble of emotions that could only result from one thing, he had been engaged in a catch-up conversation in no time. It was that which he had been doing when the door of the bar had opened and he had for whatever reason shifted his attention towards it. Shifted it towards the woman that had come in. That woman he would probably never forget in his life. Not because of her looks but because of that horror which was so clearly written across her face. That horror that was visible even from the distance and had instantly told him that something was completely wrong.

He hadn't heard any of what the woman had said, hadn't cared, had already been dashing out the door and up the stairs.

His sprint towards the alley had then probably broken every record over whatever distance it had been, nonetheless the run had seemed sheer endless. With each stride he had taken the path appeared to have gotten two strides longer; had felt like being from one of those dreams where you ran but didn't move forward.

After what had appeared like a lifetime he had reached the alley in the end, needing only a second to grasp what was going on. With his running merely reduced to a jog, he had been ready to dart right at the two figures torturing her indistinguishable shadow when two strong hands had brusquely shoved him backwards.

Caught off guard he had flown straight against his car, tumbling and eventually losing his balance as Flack had firmly hissed at him to stay where he was and not dare to move. He hadn't, certainly hadn't, had been way too stunned to do so and had simply watched for a moment how Flack and Angell, guns drawn, had dashed in the alley.

As they had skillfully ended the horror for his best friend, he had slowly scrambled back to his feet, feeling enormously relieved that they had apparently not only been so close behind him but alert enough to push him out of the way. What it could have turned in to had he just surged forward, had launched at two people who he had barely been able to see and had absolutely no idea about as to whether or not they had been armed, he hadn't wanted to think about.

With his senses then fully restored, he had begun to follow the two detectives into the darkness, the sound of several cars stopping abruptly ringing in his ears. Even without the red and blue lights being reflected all around him, he had known that the squad cars had arrived, figuring that the woman must have called 911 before heading to the bar.

Instinctively he threw a glance over his shoulder, noticing an almost ridiculous number of officers swarming out and he couldn't refrain from wondering where the bomb had gone off. Then he had asked himself where everyone had hidden for past minutes when one of their own had been in desperate need of their help. – Of his help; the thought that he had abandoned her just like their uniformed colleagues creeping into his head, building its nest without the intention of leaving again.

But the thought had also made him turn again and he had continued to hurry towards Stella, passing Flack and Angell on his way. Once more his steps had slowed, his guilt being replaced by a broiling anger as he had glared at the two handcuffed assailants. To his surprise neither one of them had looked older than 21, however, they had had the obvious muscular built of college athletes, probably even football players. Judging from their entire outward appearance they most certainly belonged to one of the elite universities and Mac had been more than tempted to grab them from Angell and Flack to smash them right into the brick wall in front of them.

Yet he hadn't. Instead he had summoned all of his inner strength to control his raging emotions and inhaling deeply he had torn his gaze away from them. Not wasting another glance at the two, he had taken the final rushed steps to close the distance between him and the person that needed him now more than she needed his fury to take over and complicate things further by jeopardizing a future conviction.

The anger had returned, however, seconds later when he had stood in front of her battered form leaning against the brick, having to catch her in his arms only a moment after that. His heart had sunken in shock while his emotions had run wild but he had quickly forced himself back to his senses. She was the one in need of his attention now – his undivided attention. The undivided attention that he had denied her before, evening the path for the attack.

He had been overcome by a tremendous guilt for the second time; something she had not wanted to hear about yet he still couldn't shake the sensation that it was because of him she was lying where she was.

Surely, he had not been the one to attack her, he had not told those two to do what they had but he had been the one who had stayed behind. Who had for once acted on impulse, had allowed emotions to guide him instead of his head.

Naturally, there was no way of undoing the decisions he had made, not now or at any time in the future. Moreover was he the first to condemn dwelling on the past when it came to others. It certainly didn't do any good to do so, yet what he was concerned, it was something completely different. He usually took days, sometimes weeks, to get over a mistake he had committed, trying everything in his power to make up for it and he hated nothing more than to be incapable to do so.

"Mac?" The voice was so weak he wasn't sure he had actually heard her but as he now shifted his full attention on to her, he found her eyelids were fluttering open.

"I'm right here," he reassured her caringly, as her green eyes glanced around the ambulance in complete disorientation before coming to a halt at him.

She stared at him almost as if she saw him for the very first time and for a short second he feared that she did not remember who he was. Yet her expression relaxed an instant later and he realized that she wanted to say something, though unable to find the words to express her thoughts.

"I'm tired," she mumbled instead as her eyes dropped shut, her features visibly sagging again.

"Stella?" Mac heard himself ask before he was able to make his mind understand what the paramedic confirmed a moment later.

She had lost consciousness once more and with fresh fear arising inside of him, his eyes involuntarily shifted towards the monitor. Her blood pressure remained fairly low but stable, nevertheless it did little to ease his discomfort.

He knew she was tough and while the paramedics couldn't, of course, be sure, they had assured him that she was responding fine, so major brain damage was unlikely. Yet unlikely wasn't impossible and he felt himself grow impatient to get to the hospital.

Tearing his eyes away from the monitor, his gaze went back to her face, fixing on her closed eyes. Her long, dark lashes were framing them, adding to the deceitful impression that she was sleeping peacefully.

Yet the bruises told a different story and he gently reached out for her, gingerly brushing his fingers along the far side of her face. For a moment he simply held them there, his fingertips lingering softly on her skin before he let them slip into her hair, barely cupping her skull, his thumb beginning to stroke over her cheekbone with a feathery touch.

He wanted to say something to her, wanted to promise her that she was going to be ok, wanted to apologize again, wanted to tell her that he would not leave her side. Wanted to tell her that she meant the world to him, that she had been able to trigger feelings inside of him earlier that he never knew existed. That he would do anything to trade places with her; to turn back time and makes things undone.

But he couldn't find the words; the thoughts were running around his brain too frantically to really make sense. Moreover were they mixed with all of his fears and he was afraid to say something which would turn out not to be true or would upset her.

Bending over her, he simply placed a tender kiss on her forehead, his lips lingering on her skin as he hoped to let her feel all his words of comfort, all of his emotions; his feelings for her.

The ambulance slowed and reluctantly he drew back, his hand gradually sliding out of her curls. They stopped and a moment later the doors were thrown open. With skilled movements the paramedics gently unloaded the stretcher, her hand gliding out of his in the process, slipping out of his reach. Her arm fell back beside her as she was swept further away from him, the distance between them growing until she was swallowed by two huge double doors.

Motionlessly he stared at the swinging doors, an eerie silence settling in the ambulance, drowning out the busyness around it. The events from the past half hour were replaying themselves in front of his eyes over and over, like a little movie that was set on repeat. No detail ever changed, everything remained the same from start to finish and if asked he could have given a dozen and more identical statements.

But he wasn't asked, in fact, there was no one there to ask, he was all alone, surrounded by machines, by science, by sterility. There was only little to no room for emotions and it was an environment he was normally comfortable in. Lived in almost constantly yet without her it was so different, was completely changed.

Everything it ever stood for was suddenly so insignificant and all that remained was a cold and impersonal space, leaving him to loneliness and isolation. Instantly he knew that this was exactly how his life would feel; would be without her and for the first time his mind seemed to truly grasp the full extent of what could have been.

Out of nowhere, emotions were all of a sudden raining down on him, overwhelming him, crashing him under the weight of tons. He was tempted to just give in to them, the burden so very heavy, so unbearable yet he knew that he couldn't. He couldn't because she needed him; needed him to be strong for her; needed him to draw the energy she didn't have from him. Just like he had been able to draw energy from her when she had lifted the weight off his shoulders; when she had actually carried it for him all those innumerable times.

But for once she wasn't able to that; for once she was weaker than he was, considerably so and it was he who would have to carry her. It would by no means be an easy task for him, she was far better in that than he was yet in an oddly twisted way he knew that she would guide him through that.

However, none of that would certainly happen in an ambulance and forcing all of his fears and concerns to the back of his mind, he climbed out of it before walking to the double doors of the emergency entrance. The same doors she had been taken through; had been taken away from him, away from his protection and strength. He had once more left her weakened all by herself but he was determined to change that; to not let it happen ever again and pushing the doors open he followed her inside the hospital.


	6. Chapter 6

I'm sorry this chapter comes a little late. But I didn't want to post it before Lily had corrected it - which she is doing so dedicatedly, so as always, many thanks to her.

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Persistent noises buzzed in her ears causing her head to throb for a moment before the volume dropped to what would be deemed normal. Her other senses were slowly coming back to her as well, her warmly covered hand the first thing she noticed, then the softness under her head, her body – a car seat maybe; a smooth cover over her body – Mac's jacket, a blanket probably.

Expecting to still be in or close to the alley her eyes fluttered open, bright light shining into them and she was forced to shut them again before she gradually reopened her eyes. She blinked a few times to adjust to the light and once able to focus her gaze fell onto a white wall that she stared at in complete disorientation, incapable of making sense of it.

The thought that she might not be fully conscious yet crossed her mind and she squeezed her eyes shut once more, the wall remaining where it was when she opened them all over again. She just glared at it for some more minutes, but it neither moved nor spoke to her, so she eventually started an attempt at finding out where she was.

Ever so slowly she turned her head to the right, her eyes skimming a chair before her gaze found a light pink, closed door in the far right corner of the room. She halted, again staring as if an explanation was hidden in it somewhere, little by little piecing the parts together, finally comprehending where she was.

She let her eyes close, still feeling so worn out although she had just woken up, making use of that moment to try and remember any of the circumstances which had put her in a hospital bed. There were sounds she couldn't place, a cluttered pile of noises, of emotions, none of them making any sense.

Vaguely she could recall someone saying something about an ambulance, about inquiring about its whereabouts yet she had no memory whatsoever of there actually having been one. Obviously there had been but her tired mind wasn't willing to pursue the remembering process any further and leaving it alone she opened her eyes again instead.

Her gaze fell on a window that stretched along the wall parallel to the bed, the curtains drawn back, revealing a more or less empty hallway behind the glass. An occasional nurse was rushing by and for a moment Stella busied herself with watching the rather monotonous action. It wasn't the most exciting thing to do and she soon got bored with it, shifting her head catching something dark out of the corner of her eye.

Intrigued she dropped her gaze to find Mac or rather his head plopped on the mattress and after an initiate second of puzzlement had worn off, her lips curled into an affectionate smile. There was nothing really surprising about him being with her when she was lying in a hospital bed – and not just because it would have been the same had it been the other way around. Something about it felt natural and the smile remaining on her lips she shut her eyes for another moment before bringing her focus back to Mac.

He was sound asleep, his breathing, despite the slight frown he had on his face, calm and even, his mouth the tiniest bit open, one of his hands serving as a pillow while the other one was the warming cover of hers. Holding hers, actually, the sight of their fingers slightly, delicately, intertwined causing a warm tingle to run down her spine. Their joined hands looked so complementing, like having been made for each other and with the tender smile continuing to envelope her lips, she caught sight of something white covering his wrist.

Most of it was hidden under his shirt yet there was left enough for her to see that she identify it as a bandage and a bit confused her eyes shifted back to the sleeping Mac.

Naturally, he wouldn't give her an answer and there was also none written across his face, over which she began to let her gaze wander now. His features were soft, innocent in a way, the urge to touch his skin, to run her fingers over it, over his unshaven cheek awakening, but she refrained from it, afraid she might wake him.

He would certainly welcome it if she did, she was sure of that. Just like she was sure he hadn't meant to fall asleep, knowing he wouldn't allow himself to rest in a situation like that. However, he had very obviously been overwhelmed by fatigue – that alone was rare enough and an adequate reason not to wake him.

But in addition to that he seemed so peaceful, his sleep so unusually deep and he definitely deserved it – more than anyone. She didn't have to think twice to decide to leave him to his dreams, her eyes returning to their entwined hands. Looking at them for a second time, she realized how surreal, how odd it actually was to be holding hands with Mac, at the same time finding she had already gotten used to it. Gotten used to the sensation of comfort, of familiarity, the interlaced lines of their fingers blending into each other, the contours appearing to have degraded. Seeming so delicate that they were hardly visible anymore and she stared at their merged hands in amazement until the opening door diverted her attention.

Quickly Stella motioned towards Mac, putting her left index finger on to her lips, noticing the restricted range of movement of her arm but not giving it a second thought. She was much more concerned with the nurse who smiled in understanding, soundlessly moving through the room, checking a monitor Stella hadn't been aware of thus far.

As she discovered now it was the actual source of the quiet but steady humming that had been ringing in her ears ever since she had woken up, the graphs and numbers reminding her of a math equation. A bit absent-mindedly she stared at the screen, finding both graphs and numbers to be stable, deviating only little, gradually realizing that it was blood pressure and heartbeat she was gazing at.

Her heartbeat and blood pressure to be precise and for an instant she was totally baffled, then it started to make sense – at least when she took the circumstance that she was in a hospital and it was her who was lying in that bed into consideration. Nevertheless, it did not explain why she was monitored to begin with and she searched for the nurse, finding her standing next to her.

Skillfully the middle-aged woman took her temperature before Stella had truly caught on to her action and a moment later was unhooking the empty IV bag from the line leading to her arm. It was something else she had been oblivious to but was staring at with slight confusion written over her features.

"That was a glucose solution," the nurse answered her unasked question in a hushed voice. "To help stabilize your circulation."

Hearing the words but feeling like she did not really understand them Stella's eyes went to the empty bag then back to the nurse who had already moved on to inquiring about her well-being. It took Stella an instant until the full question had reached her mind yet the answer came quicker. Obviously satisfied with the "I'm fine" that Stella offered, the nurse gave her a smile and after replacing the IV bag, she slipped from the room almost soundlessly.

A little startled Stella glared at the closed door, the quick and simultaneous actions still a bit too much for her, causing her head to begin to spin and she shut her eyes. For a few minutes she just lay there, allowing her mind to process what her eyes had observed before she slowly let her eyelids flutter open again.

Realizing that she did not have the chance to ask the nurse what she had wanted to, her gaze went back to the monitor, however, she only briefly glanced at the numbers and graphs, dropping her eyes then back to Mac. He was still sound asleep and although it meant that he was not able to answer any questions any time soon, unless she woke him – which she did not intend to – she felt a twinge of relief.

She let her eyes linger on his sleeping form, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips when she once again noticed how relaxed he was. But a second later her thoughts drifted away from him and back to the question which continued to trouble her.

Most certainly there was a connection between the reason for her being here in the first place and the monitoring, that was not difficult to figure out; a connection to that dark alley she remembered, the ambulance request, the pain that she now started to faintly recall. But nothing that her mind came up with qualified as a distinct reason to be in a hospital, to be monitored, any memory that could solve the mystery still eluding her.

Inadvertently her thoughts travelled back a few years, back to when she had needed Flack to help her memory. Despite having been able to recall bits and pieces, not remembering had almost scared her more than having been attacked and it was what now started to frighten her as well. She didn't want to have that same experience all over again, didn't want to need Mac or anyone at all to fill in the gaps in her memory. However, freaking out wouldn't get her anywhere either and in an attempt to calm herself she closed her eyes.

When they fluttered open a short time later, she realized that she had actually drifted off, glancing around a little sleepy, her gaze returned more or less automatically to Mac. There simply was something about his sleeping figure that drew her eyes to him, something irresistible and a warm smile forming on her face, she realized how content she would be to just lay there and watch him all day long. All night long as well for that matter, nevertheless she did tear her gaze away from him, searching for a glass of water to still the thirst that was calling for her attention.

As expected, there was a bed side table on the side of the bed she had not yet explored, her eyes skimming another window as she now did, this one was facing the outside, revealing a cloudy sky, a few rain drops that had started to fall against it. Oddly enough she instantly remembered that the much needed rain hadn't been anywhere in the forecast for the next five days – which meant that the weather man had again been wrong – unless…

She halted her thought deliberating the likelihood of the five days having already passed, dismissing the idea as preposterous. It was a conclusion solely based on her wanting it to be improbable but it simply couldn't be that she had missed five days of her life. Nevertheless she was a lot less convinced about that than she would have loved to be, feeling like her mind required some proof to truly believe it, wishing there was an indication to go on.

Any indication, she didn't care what it would be and closing her eyes again, she tried once more to remember. Tried to find that clue, tried to recall anything that would tell her for how long she had already been in the hospital. But what she came up with was nothing new and fighting the arising frustration, she let her eyelids drop shut yet another time. Sleep quickly crawled into her body, threatening to settle and she was already dozing off when she yanked her eyes back open.

Her gaze fell on Mac and to her surprise she found him to be awake – or rather in the process of waking up. He struggled a little to sit up straight, blinking several times to get the sleep out of his half opened yes, stifling a yawn. Instead his lips curved into a warm smile when his eyes caught sight of hers.

"Hey Sleeping Beauty," he murmured, his warm voice still thick with sleep, ignoring the skeptic look she offered him in return.

"How are you feeling?" he inquired his features growing serious, gingerly brushing a lock out of her face as his soft gaze sought out hers.

His question had her realize that while she had told the nurse she was fine, which she was generally speaking, she hadn't really given it any thorough thought. All that she was constantly aware of was that unnerving fatigue and she slightly shrugged, taking a moment to consider her answer.

"Exhausted," she then concluded, closing her eyes as if to emphasize her statement, feeling his fingers begin to gently stroke her forehead. "Sore," she added, reopening her eyes, swallowing, her throat reminding her of what she had been searching for before her attention had been diverted.

Intending to follow that up, she turned her head away from Mac, a glass of water sitting on the bed side table, right as she had presumed. She transferred her weight on to her left side, attempting something very ordinary, something she had done so many times before, something she would never spend a second thought on and most naturally she pushed herself up, aborting that almost the same instant, gasping in pain.

Wincing, her eyes squeezed shut, she rolled back into the pillows, biting her lip, finally releasing the breath she had been holding.

"That hurt," she exclaimed as the pain was easing from her body, slowly daring to open her lightly teared eyes again, discovering Mac to be slightly bent over her, the attempt he had made to keep her from trying to sit still visible in his position.

He actually seemed frozen in place, his concerned eyes meeting hers the moment she shut hers once more to take a deep breath, feeling the hammering of her heart gradually calming.

"I don't know why I always assumed you would get pumped full of pain killers in a hospital," she murmured sarcastically as she reopened her eyes, causing an involuntary smile to cross Mac's face.

He had relaxed again, carefully taking a seat next to her on the bed, extending his hand to gently run it over her curls.

"You did," he tenderly explained, his fingers gliding into her hair, leisurely combing through her locks, "quite heavily, actually," he went on, his thumb beginning to affectionately brush over her temple.

"Then they don't work," she muttered complaining, glancing at the water glass, staring at it for a short moment then adjusting her gaze back to Mac.

"They are not supposed to numb you," he smiled much to her displeasure, drawing back his hand, leaving her with an instant longing for his soft touch, "they are just supposed to ease the pain – and they wear off, too," he concluded a hint of teasing in his tone.

She grimaced, offering a grunt that he ignored as he carefully slipped his arm around her, gently assisting her so she could sit up. A dull pain instantly began crawling through different parts of her body, her temples beginning to throb and for a split second she closed her eyes but quickly reopened them so Mac wouldn't notice. Gritting her teeth she helped him as much as she could so he would have to support the least weight possible, however, the entire process was quite a struggle for her. More than once she had to remind herself to keep breathing but she did her best to hide that from him, finally sitting upright enough, his one arm remaining around her as he reached over her to get the glass from the bed side table.

Wordlessly she accepted it, staring into it, glancing at Mac, hesitant to drink, finding the way he was watching her so closely a little embarrassing. Yet she tried to block that, eventually taking a sip, feeling him carefully shift, adjusting his firm hold, so she would be able to partly rest her body against his chest.

Given the effort all of it had cost her it was quite in inviting thought, nonetheless she was reluctant to do so, the fact that this fairly simple procedure was such a strain difficult enough to admit. However, he knew her sufficiently well to be aware that it was her pride and nothing more which kept her from relenting so he cautiously, barely noticeably nudged her until she leaned in to him.

Her body relaxed against his, making him smile internally, but he refrained from any frivolous comments, respecting that this would by no means be appropriate.

Silently he watched her sip some more water, his warm eyes studying her, discovering that a few curls had fallen in front of her eyes. He reached out, carefully brushing them out of her face, his fingertips grazing her temple as he tenderly put the strands behind her ear. For an instant his hand lingered before he let his fingers slide down her neck, leaving a tingling trail, his gaze following his hand until his palm came to a rest on her shoulder.

After another moment he took it off of her, shifting his eyes, finding her to be sunken into her own thoughts, staring absently into the almost empty glass of water and he slowly extended his arm to close his hand around it. At the touch of their fingers she tentatively turned her head, meeting his eyes, searching his, holding on to them as he gradually pulled the glass out of her grip. She let him, mutely tolerating his aid but tearing her eyes away from him, glaring down at the blanket as he placed the glass back on to the bed side table.

Settling back beside her, he let his gaze drift over her for another short moment, getting no reaction from her therefore just began to cautiously help her lay down again. She cooperated yet he was quick to notice how she avoided to look at him, almost halting his movements as a wave of sympathy spread through his body.

He was perfectly aware of how she felt, perfectly aware of how self-conscious this entire situation left her and how uncomfortable this need for help made her. It was an additional burden to the injuries themselves and he knew that it would have been entirely the same had the circumstances been reversed.

Yet they weren't and for a split second he let himself get sidetracked by guilt, by that wish to be able to switch places with her. However, that was not possible, never had been and never would be and he pushed those thoughts aside, his attention returning to Stella.

Gently he settled her back into the pillows, fluffing them left and right of her and after caringly adjusting her blanket, he slowly lifted his gaze again. She had closed her eyes in exhaustion, taking a moment of rest before her eyes fluttered back open.

"Thanks," she mumbled tonelessly, only briefly meeting his eyes, quickly shifting hers away from him, dropping them to stare at something only she appeared able to see.

He just smiled compassionately, unable to offer any response that would not have turned out to be awkward, knowing without her saying so, that even though she was less than happy about it, she was glad to have him at her side. Glad to have him there to help her, that she did not have to struggle through pain, did not have to put up a brave face like she would have felt obliged to, had it been anyone else. No matter how much effort, she would not have allowed anyone else to see her being that dependable, that vulnerable. It simply was not compatible with her stubbornness, with the tough, independent, confident person she was considered to be. Of course, she was all that, yet there was more to it; more to her, that she kept so well hidden from everyone around her. Everyone but Mac. She and him were something different altogether, something that was so much bigger, that went far beyond that point of pretense and façade.

He was aware of that, aware that he was and always would be the only one who knew the real Stella, the only one whom she would grant all access to her real self, in front of whom she would be only as strong as was possible at that moment. It was one of the greatest displays of trust she had to offer, one of the greatest he could get and although he had thus far never been capable of finding the words to tell her, he knew, hoping that his tenderness, his affection was enough to make her understand.

Her eyes had shut again while his wandered over her face, the tips of his fingers slightly grazing her forehead, slowly stroking over it, along her temples, on to her cheek. For a second his feathery touch lingered on her skin before he drew his hand away from her, her eyes reopening as he closed his fingers around her hand.

He offered her a quick smile, unsure if he was expected to say something, the silence between them gradually filling with anxiety.

"I guess, I finally know what it feels like to have been run over by a truck," Stella muttered the first thing that came to her mind to ease the tension, unable to portray as much sarcasm as she would have liked to. There was no laugh or even a smile from Mac in response, he simply kept looking at her thoughtfully.

"It wasn't exactly a truck," he replied, another awkward moment of silence following.

She studied him, aware that it hadn't meant to be a correction, that he simply hadn't caught on to her attempt at humor, her eyes then drifting away from his.

"I – I know," she admitted a bit reluctantly, going with his answer, her gaze having shifted to their joined hands. "At least I think I do," she added quietly, raising her eyes back to his, but dropping them again an instant later when tears suddenly welled up inside of her. Tears that she could not quite explain, that she assumed resulted from exhaustion and frustration, the frustration that her memory was such a haze, that there were only a handful of things she could be sure about.

She shut her eyes, swallowing down the lump in her throat, restoring her composure, feeling Mac once again let his fingers glide over her forehead reassuringly, giving her the courage to make a fresh attempt at remembering.

The evening itself was quite evident, they had been laughing, had enjoyed their time together and she could recall that she had been waiting for Mac, waiting for the night to take its course, waiting at the car, in that chilly wind. She was even still aware of her thoughts, that she had meant to call him – a silly idea in retrospect – and inevitably she opened her eyes, seeking out his.

Looking into them now, it was so obvious that her worries had been absolutely unnecessary, that she would have only risked hurting him, disrupting their developing relationship, making it leap backwards, had she followed through with that call.

But she hadn't – she had been prevented, prevented by the attack, that attack she had been trying to recall ever since she had woken up, that was the missing link to the alley, to the pain, to her being in the hospital. The connection to that sound that still echoed in her ears so very clearly, that she simply could not stop hearing. That sound Flack's releasing of the safety-catch of his gun had made, that sound which she was so familiar with but that had meant so much in that moment; that had meant that she was safe. That appeared to be burnt into her memory, burnt into her memory together with that overwhelming relief which had spread through her body an instant later.

Yet anything that had happened before or after that was a blur, belonged to those details she continued to have difficulties remembering, belonged, in part, to those details which she knew would make her break down crying once they came back to her. Which would make her have to fight fragility and fear – even more so than she already had to once. Furthermore with those few additional details she now recalled, not being able to remember all of it suddenly did not seem to be such a bad thing anymore.

After all she wasn't lacking a memory that was desirable, however, it was more than likely that it would gradually restore itself and everything would be back at one point anyway. Moreover up until now she had never backed out of anything – regardless of how difficult or painful the situation. She simply wasn't the kind to do that. Living in denial would mean surrendering; would mean succumbing to fear and that was exactly what those two or anyone else like them wanted to achieve.

But it was also exactly what she would not tolerate – ever. She preferred to live up to the challenge, it had always been and still was more or less a rule of survival for her and she would not change that now. The current situation was just another setback, another of those events she had to go through and would come out even stronger.

The sooner she could start dealing with what had happened, the sooner she would be able to put it behind her and move on with her life. Nonetheless she couldn't deny the relief she felt that for now her mind continued to block the memories which were still too painful for her to bear at the moment.

A few tears had trickled down her cheek unnoticed, Mac's ginger touch making her aware of that, the focus of her eyes slowly returning to his. His compassion, his understanding, all of what he felt was so clearly visible in his features, in his gaze which held steadily on to hers as his fingers now tenderly slipped into her curls, combing through them.

"What happened?" her voice then filled the quiet room and for an instant he was confused. Involuntarily his heart rate picked up but a second later he noticed that her eyes had shifted to his bandaged hand, relief settling in his body as his own eyes moved to his wrist as well.

"I spent too much time with you," he smiled mysteriously while her features told him that she did not really understand. "I used my heart instead of my head," he added tenderly, prompting a small smile to appear on her face.

"How dare you?" she teased, the smile continuing to play around her lips, nevertheless her voice was filled with fatigue.

"I'm not sure," he replied softly, his hand going on with its caressing. "It might have had something to do with the trouble the woman I fell for got in." His tone was tender and she rewarded him with another smile, her brain being too tired to provide her with the smart answer she normally would have liked to offer.

She closed her eyes, his gentle, soothing touch causing an enormous sense of comfort to unfold within her, emphasizing the fatigue which was still luring inside of her. It didn't take long for her body to grow heavier as it prepared to fall asleep yet again she wouldn't let it, almost brusquely forcing her eyes to reopen.

"How long have I been out?" she inquired, the question having come back to her out of the blue and despite its likeliness Mac was visibly surprised. But he quickly caught himself, glancing at his watch to do a quick calculation.

"A little over 30 hours," he informed her calmly, his fingers continuing to gently brush through her curls as she frowned.

"You were briefly responsive on the ride to the hospital and when we got here again," he went on to explain yet that was a negligible fact for her, doing nothing to ease her frown.

"Did they sedate me?" she wanted to know, even though she was already aware that this was not the case.

But the mere idea that she had been completely incapable of waking up for more than a day solely because her body had been too weak was a bit frightening and difficult for her to accept.

"Stella, you were in shock," Mac told her softy, answering her question without really doing so.

"You lost a fair amount of blood, you sustained multiple injuries and you have a severe concussion," he calmly explained pulling his hand out of her curls to caringly run it over her forehead.

The information he offered was countered with an indistinguishable grunt apparently mainly meant for her body for betraying her rather than him and he couldn't help the smile that crossed his face. Even though she and him functioned in completely opposite ways – she more on impulse, he more thoughtful – they were almost just as alike, logic and reason only applying to others and their job but not them.

"You know that your brain and body needed the time to recover," he pointed out, his tone quiet and even, his responsibility rewarded with another grunt – this one clearly meant for him. "And they still do," he added unimpressed, referring to her ongoing exhaustion.

Her eyes left his yet his remained on her, his fingers continuing to caress her as she processed all of the information, considered whether or not to accept the unwelcome truth of his statements.

"What injuries," she suddenly asked, her eyes instantly back on his.

He hesitated, the question not what he had expected, wasn't what he was prepared to answer, wasn't what he wanted to answer, the guilt inside of him flaring up again. That same guilt that had begun to trouble him back in the alley, that guilt that he wasn't able to shake, that had deepened when he had first talked to Stella's doctor. When he had given him a detailed explanation of her injuries that he had and at the same time had not wanted to hear. Those details that had made him wince inside just by listening.

"Mac," she demanded his attention in a tired voice, his eyes refocusing on her, hers closing for a second. "What injuries?" she repeated her question mumbling, her eyelids opening and dropping back shut almost the same instant.

Still hesitant, he stared at her, waiting for her eyes to reopen, secretly hoping she would drift off to sleep, his gaze slowly wandering over her face. Over the stitched up wounds on her chin and cheekbone, over her broken nose, over all those additional scratches and bruises she had sustained. While her face had been washed clean from the blood and dirt, it looked almost worse than it had in the ambulance, the bruising and swelling so much more distinct now.

Surely it would heal, he was, of course, aware of that, all of her wounds would, even the non-physical ones – even her heart would mend over time. She would see to that, would fight for that, would not allow anyone to destroy the person she was proud of having become – and she would not allow guilt to defeat him either.

He didn't want to allow that, didn't want to be eaten up by it, however, at this point he was so full of doubts, so unsure if he would ever be able to forgive himself completely. Forgive himself that he had put her in so much danger. All he had done was take a decision; a plain simple decision, yet the impact of that was enormous. It showed so clearly how easily the path of life could be altered and again he was haunted by the realization that it could have changed hers even worse.

"Mac," her soft voice finally cut through to him, startling him a bit as he had expected her to be asleep by now. "Stop blaming yourself," she almost whispered, pleading, while his eyes moved back to hers, looking into them.

He was not the least surprised that she was aware of what was going on inside of him, on the contrary it would have surprised him had she not been. Nevertheless he didn't reply, silently holding on to her gaze, his hand gliding from her face back into her curls, his eyes following, watching lost in thought as he let her silky locks tenderly run through his fingers.

"There is no way you could have known," Stella assured compassionately, her hand squeezing his in conciliation.

The focus of his eyes returned to hers, studying them, secretly marveling over her ability to read him, wondering if she might even be able to read him too well at times.

"I know…" he then offered, the fact that he let the sentence trail so clearly showing that while he did know, he was far from accepting that.

"Mac, please – " It was an incomplete phrase nevertheless she did not have the intention of adding anything else. Instead she gazed into his eyes, drawing her hand away from his, about to reach out for him, when he caught her hand in mid-air.

He placed a tender kiss on the inside of her palm before he pressed it against his cheek, closing his eyes, protectively covering her hand with his. As he held on to it, she suddenly understood, became aware of his own pain, of his own demons, comprehending that it was a vulnerability she saw whenever she was looking into his eyes.

A vulnerability that she had not been able to identify as such until now but that was so clear, so apparent, so plainly revealing his deepest inner emotions, his deepest fear. The fear of almost losing, yet again, the person that mattered most in his life; the fear of loving and losing her just like he had loved and lost Claire.

She swallowed, closing her eyes to keep the tears that the realization caused from welling up inside of her, her eyes actually welcoming that moment of rest. Yet she was not willing to grant them more than that instant she needed to regain her composure, forcing her eyelids to flutter open again, slowly pulling her hand out of Mac's hold.

Gently she slid it around his skull, his eyes opening once she began to gingerly but firmly draw his head closer, his reluctance quickly easing, his need to be close to her, to feel her presence much stronger than his pride. Willingly he let her place his head on her chest, taking a deep breath to inhale her scent, shutting his eyes again, listening to her steady heartbeat.

"You know me," he heard her whisper, her lips pressed against his forehead in a tender kiss, her fingers ever so slightly combing through his hair.

For a reason unknown to her, she was not ready to directly promise him that she would not leave him – ever. Yet those three words were saying exactly that, were saying so much more than what they suggested; were reminding him above all of her catlike ability to always land on her feet, of those nine lives she seemed to have and was determined to use; each and every one of them.

Cautiously Mac shifted, lifting his head a little, slowly sitting back up, seeking out her eyes as her fingers slid out of his hair. Wordlessly, his eyes holding on to hers, he let his hand cup her cheek as tenderly as possible, his thumb beginning to lightly brush over her skin, his touch so soft she hardly noticed. His warm gaze continuing to look at her with never ending affection, his free hand felt for hers, the fingers intertwining with hers, before he eventually answered.

"I do," he sighed affirming, their eyes staring deeply into each others. "I do know you," he repeated to confirm it to himself, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was amazing how she was actually able to guide him, support him even now but it was also exactly like he had predicted.

A deep, pure satisfaction settled inside of him and continuing with the soft stroking of her cheek, he noticed her increasing struggle to stay awake. Fatigue seemed to get a good advantage over her nevertheless she was very obviously still unwilling to admit it.

"What I also know," Mac smiled his voice still filled with affection, "is that you should rest," he finished, watching her stare at him blankly, her attempt to gather all the words for an objection almost visible.

Yet there was no protest coming, her stubborn head apparently not stubborn enough, her eyelids growing too heavy for her to keep them open.

"But you still haven't – haven't answered – my – question," she then mumbled weariness audible in her every word, having to pause several times as she was now quickly becoming overwhelmed by tiredness.

"I'll do that later," he assured, shifting his hand from her cheek to her forehead as her eyes dropped shut.

The reply she attempted turned into an indistinguishable sound, the words too slurred, too thick with sleep to be comprehensible another smile crossing his face. She was still fighting sleep for a reason only she knew – or maybe even not – but he loved the sight, downright adored her childlike behavior. Even more he adored to see how her breathing slowly evened, how she gradually fell asleep despite all of her efforts, an inevitable anticipation arising inside of him. The anticipation for all those nights in the future that he would lay beside her, would be able to do what he was doing now; touch her, caress her, hold her, simply listen to her rhythmic breathing while she was little by little drawn into the world of dreams. Watch her as long and whenever he wanted to; stare at her endlessly if he was in the mood.

Even though there had yet to be an exchange of words of affection, there was no question to all of that happening. The mere thought of it was simply natural, causing an excitement to spread through his body; one that he hadn't felt in ages but that was nevertheless familiar from years ago. From back when he had been a young marine, full of pride and thirst for action and so madly in love with that beautiful college girl who later had become his wife.

He was a lot older now, a lot more mature, with less thirst for action, however, his pride was still the same and so was the excitement. It was that of a young man who would be able to spend his life together with the woman he loved, with the person that mattered more than anything, mattered more than his own life ever would.

Another smile crossed his face, only the hint of it nonetheless it reflected all of his thoughts, all of those emotions and he let them sink in as he bent over Stella, his warm gaze running over her relaxed features. There was no doubt that she had fallen asleep, a peacefulness engulfing her which could only result from a deep slumber. Briefly, he let his fingertips brush over her skin before he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. She didn't stir and for a moment he remained close to her then, never taking his eyes off her, he began to slowly sit back up straight, glad that she had finally given in to the rest she needed.


	7. Chapter 7

Again, sorry for the slight delay. This time, however, it was entirely my fault. I decided to add another chapter, kind of an epilogue, so I had to change the ending of this one. Yet in the meantime I had started to work on the one-shot and wanted to finish that first, so I kind of got mixed up in two stories - which I usually try to avoid. But enough of the rambling, the chapter's done now and ready to be posted – obviously.

As I said, there will be an epilogue, however, it won't be posted before about a month as I will be on vacation until then without internet access. I do apologize for that.

Thanks for the reviews and alerts on the last chapter.

Geez - almost forgot, thanks to Lily for reading through, of course!!

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A shiver took hold of her body as she began to awake, immediately noticing that the warmth of Mac's hand, and his presence, was gone. She mumbled his name, her voice similar to that of sick kid calling out for its mother, uncontrollable thoughts starting to all at once race through her mind. Random images from her attack, of being hit, being slammed against the brick, of that hand reaching out to undress her. Images that mixed with feelings from her childhood, mixed with anxiousness, with pain, with fear, turning into something she already knew would be nightmares.

They would play with her, taunt her, would enjoy making her suffer, to make things worse by blending memories and emotions which had nothing to do with what had happened now with those that had, creating a mess, an even bigger emotional chaos. They would feed on that, on her fears, the fears they would build, the ones they would dig up in addition to the one they already had. That one, strong fear which originated from her childhood, that she had buried so well but had never been able to completely overcome. That fear of ending up all alone, of having been abandoned, left in a place full of strangers with no one who truly cared about her, no one who would look out for her, would love her and who she could love back.

"Stella!" His calm, warm voice finally reached her, overpowering her terrorizing thoughts. "Stella," he repeated as she stirred, murmuring something incomprehensible, "I'm here, Stella," he reassured softly, his hand already back around hers, gently entwining his fingers with hers as her eyes fluttered open.

Her body instantly relaxed at the sight of him, his fingertips caringly brushing over her forehead and temple, his velvet eyes filled with warmth and care.

"I'm right here," he comforted her, offering her a tender smile, watching her eyes shut in relief.

She took a moment to calm the fast beating of her heart before opening her eyes again, her fingers curling affectionately around his, very openly portraying her need of his touch, of his closeness, of her need for him to know how much she wanted him to be with her right now.

"I wouldn't leave you," he whispered almost vowing, very well aware of those fears which had already begun and would continue to haunt her. Aware, too, of the needs that went hand in hand with those fears, that required infinite care and love; his infinite care and love.

As he locked his eyes with hers, he felt her hand glide from his, searching for the one still stroking her face, covering it, tenderly squeezing it against her skin. He faintly smiled, noticing the green of her eyes to have cleared, her affection for him now so plainly, so openly reflected in that warm gaze.

Barely touching her skin, he began to let his thumb stroke over her cheek, carefully avoiding any of her wounds, never taking his eyes off hers. Slowly, their connecting bond reformed, stronger than before, her fingers slipping in between his. He responded, allowing their fingers to gently intertwine and for a moment all they did was caress each other softly.

Their eyes, their bond, was drawing them into a world of their own, a universe that existed only to them, his other hand rising, his fingertips brushing a lock out of her face. He let them linger a bit longer than necessary then, little by little, withdrew them, his stare becoming more intense. His fingers which were still engaged in a tender play with hers, slowed until they came to a stop, caringly wrapping around hers and holding on to her hand his face suddenly inching the tiniest bit closer. So tiny that it was hard to notice, even harder now that he had halted but she had and she also was aware of him diminishing the distance between their faces even further. Gradually, hesitantly, as if he were moving in slow motion, yet he did move, did bring his face to hers, their breaths now perceptible, both of their eyes finally dropping shut. Dropping shut no faster than he approached, his lips softly brushing against hers, grazing them, his motion suddenly stopping abruptly.

With the feathery touch of his lips having left hers, Stella opened her eyes in confusion, throwing Mac a questioning look that he did not respond to, did not pay attention to in the first place.

Instead he slightly turned his head and she her gaze followed his, falling on a figure standing by the door that she had been unaware of until then.

It took her a little longer than it usually would have to indentify the person as Flack and she returned the smile the lean detective offered her before shifting her focus back to Mac.

Very apparently he had completely forgotten about Flack, now being the one who offered her a withdrawn yet sheepish smile and again she returned it, perfectly understanding his message. Understanding that he was just as ease with Flack having witnessed their almost kiss as she was, nevertheless a second kiss, a real kiss would have to wait until later when there were just the two of them again.

After exchanging another smiling look, Mac placed a tender kiss on her hand, promising to be right back as he let his hand slip from hers, slowly getting up. Wordlessly she watched him join a smirking Flack, responding to his teasing comment with an unusually bright smile, followed by a happy, warm glance back at Stella before taking up the conversation they had been leading earlier.

She was unable to make out what they were talking about, not making an effort in the first place. There were a few nods by each of them but otherwise there wasn't much body language and she shifted her point of focus, studying the two figures.

Flack had settled against the doorframe while Mac was leaning with his side at the wall, his hands tucked into his pants' pockets and a warm smile crossed her face at those two so defining positions.

For a short while she observed both detectives chat, letting her thoughts roam freely before her gaze began to wander again, running over the men's' lean bodies, eventually coming to a halt at Mac's butt. The second she did, the conversation from the bar came back to her mind, a slightly sly smile appearing on her lips in response, her eyes going back up an instant later.

She caught Mac's as she did so as he had turned to steal a quick glance at her, their gazes locking right away and he offered her a playful smile, somehow knowing where her eyes had come from, aware of the thoughts she had had with it.

Nodding at something Flack had said he shifted his eyes away from her and back to the other detective, smirking at another comment he had apparently made, the two of them about to wrap up the conversation.

Giving Mac a friendly slap on his upper arm, Flack confirmed that he would keep him in the loop, then waved a goodbye at Stella before disappearing into the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Alone again, Mac crossed over to Stella's bed, his eyes warm as he settled next to her on the mattress, their gazes instantly locking for a moment. Despite the affection his look portrayed she could tell that there was something on his mind, something he was searching for the right words to talk to her about.

She had a fairly good idea as to what it was and it was not what she was keen on discussing at the moment. Her assailants had been caught in the act, they were guilty and even though she knew she should care what had happened after the arrest, she didn't. Not now anyway, her mind unable, unwilling to deal with it, her eyes drifting away from his as she felt him take her hand back into his, their fingers carefully intertwining.

Automatically her eyes shifted, watching their fingers mingle, mix, blend in with one another, staring at them, at how her slender, delicate hand was so protectively held by his strong one. Staring at the perfect representation, the perfect symbol for their relationship, at a precise definition of them. Of how he always looked out for her, always maintained a guarding hand – visible or invisible – over her, how he always had ever since the first day they had met and always would.

"Did they say why?" her voice suddenly cut through the silence, asking the only question that was interesting her, her eyes moving back to Mac's.

He was quite obviously startled by her question, that she so precisely knew what or rather whom he had planned to talk to her about. Yet it didn't take long until the confusion was replaced by a mishmash of emotions flaring up inside of him, a mixture of anger, hate, guilt, affection and sympathy; sympathy especially over the answer he was about to give.

"They – shrugged it off," he replied, directly looking into her eyes, his desire to offer a different response clearly visible. "They said they were – bored."

The difficulty he had to remain calm, to not storm out of the room and have the two suffer his fury was obvious, his hand squeezing hers a little tighter so he would be able to keep his raging emotions under control. She let him, squeezing back as she held on to his eyes, surprised that she was not the least shocked by that explanation. In fact, there was no immediate reaction in any way, nothing she felt at all, no anger, no tears over a pointless action. All his words did were register and being stored somewhere in her brain where everything else had been piled up, where everything else was waiting, lurking, until she was physically and psychologically ready to break down.

"There are other things to do than to attack and attempt to rape women when you are bored," she pointed out rather impassively, his eyes studying hers, searching them for any sign of a forthcoming outburst.

But all he found was that lack of emotions and he was troubled by that for a moment before he began to comprehend, began to match it to her general state of feelings.

"I know…" he nevertheless offered, still looking into her eyes, sympathy and affection the only emotions that remained of the earlier mix.

There was nothing left for her to answer, nothing she was expected to answer in the first place, the matter set aside for the time being, silence falling between them.

Her gaze shifted back to their intertwined fingers, his following, staring just like her at their caressing thumbs. They had begun a tender play without either of them being consciously aware of and for a while they silently observed the affectionate gesture before his gaze went back to her face again.

She lifted hers an instant after that, their eyes connecting, another moment passing until her lips curved into a somewhat insecure smile. He returned the smile with a similar lack of confidence, both their thoughts obviously circling around the same; circling around the unfinished kiss, the follow up that they should be doing now.

They did want to do it yet the mood was, of course, gone and neither was exactly certain of how to proceed. To just lean in to each other and kiss was a very odd thought; a picture that neither was quite capable of bringing to their minds, the awkwardness of the situation emphasized by the fact that they had never truly kissed before.

Until a few days ago they hadn't even contemplated the possibility – or at least they had not admitted to doing so to themselves. At present, however, that thought was dominating, nevertheless the minutes moved on while they simply stared at one another, then Stella let out a laugh.

For a second Mac looked at her perplexed but when he caught on to her thoughts an instant later, a grin spread across his face and he reached out for her hair, brushing away a strand that had not really fallen into her face.

Softly he touched her skin, his fingertips slowly gliding down along her hairline, his grin turning into a warm smile as he did. He halted his movements almost hesitantly once he came to her jaw line, an anticipation finally starting to build inside of them, making their hearts beat faster, their visual bond gradually returning.

A slight tingle spread through their bodies as Mac began to lean in to her, his hand slipping from her face into her curls, to the back of her head, cupping it, drawing closer inch by inch. Subconsciously increasing the loving play of their fingers, their smiles were slowly fading, their eyelids dropping further and further, finally shutting, his lips grazing hers a moment later.

A flow of emotions rushed through their bodies, their lips parting again as their eyes simultaneously reopened. Instantly their gazes reconnected, sending a slight smile to their lips before shutting their eyes once more, his mouth meeting hers anew. The tumble of emotions was back immediately and for a moment they remained like that, let the sensations settle, motionlessly, their lips gently pressed on to the other ones, their fingers woven into each others.

Slowly he then began to caress her, feeling her respond, their lips seeming to float, barely skimming the other one's as they tenderly touched, tasted, explored, curiosity being their guide in the discovery of the unknown. It was a kiss, a first kiss by the book, emotions being unfolded, sensations that were way beyond their imagination, far more than what either one had known to exist surfacing.

At the same time an odd familiarity spread through their bodies, an intimacy that gave the impression that they had shared a million kisses before, their mouths seeming to be accustomed to one another, exactly aware of where to touch, meet, caress. Belonging, needing one another; being a perfect match. A perfect match like their hands, a perfect match that proved beyond a doubt, that there was nothing more right.

Deeply sunken into their own world, they were completely consumed by the loving play of their lips, oblivious to their surroundings, to the nurse that had peeked in, who had been alarmed by a monitor at the nurses station, withdrawing with a smile once she had found out the reason. They were oblivious to simply anything but them, the kiss all which existed. That soft and tender kiss that at the same time was so powerful, overwhelming, captivating, neither wanting to ever have to end it.

Yet a moment later they did start to let go of each other, somehow knowing that it was time to, slowly pulling back, their lips staying connected for as long as possible until they finally parted.

Breathing rather heavily they let their eyes gradually flutter open, the bond immediately back the instant their gazes connected, the blue and green of their eyes shining brightly. Shimmering like a gemstone, glittering like an aquamarine, an emerald in the sunlight, the colors seeming to mix, creating the turquoise of the ocean, mesmerizing them. Drawing them into their depths, making them want to stare at each other's eyes forever, the shifting of Mac's hand finally pulling Stella out of the spell.

He on the other hand, was still lost in her eyes, completely unaware that he had begun to gently twist her curls around his fingers, that simple, childlike gesture revealing all his love and affection for her.

A warm smile appeared on her face as she studied his entranced features, an unmistakable aura of complete satisfaction engulfing him, spreading on to her, causing a sensation of absolute togetherness to wash over her body.

"Claire always knew that this would happen," Mac's smooth, deep voice cut through the silence, prompting Stella to look at him a little confused. He, on the other hand, appeared just like his voice, calm and totally at ease, puzzling her even further.

There was no way Claire could have predicted that 7 ½ years after her death, Stella would be attacked; it simply didn't make sense and she was about to ask for an explanation when Mac went on.

"She always knew that one day we would fall in love," he stated evenly, absolute contentment having settled on his face, as Stella's confusion gave way to surprise.

Not over the fact that he had said that they had fallen in love; that she was already aware of, not least since the evening before last.

What stunned her was that Claire, the woman who had loved and married him had actually said so. Said so such a long time ago when their friendship had still been in its infancy compared to what it was now.

"I, of course, never believed her," Mac continued his recollection of thoughts.

At his words, her lips curled into a slight but knowing smile, showing that she surely had not a single doubt about the truth of what he had said. The mere mentioning of that phrase had been unnecessary. That he had not even so much as hinted at Claire's words before was proof enough that he had only recently begun to dare consider the possibility that his late wife might have actually been right about it.

"No matter how strongly I objected," he went on, as his hand slipped into her curls once more, carefully cupping her skull, his thumb taking up the soft caressing of her temple, "no matter how often I thought it ridiculous, assured her that we were simply friends and neither you nor I had any intention to change that. And no matter how many times I told her that I loved her and always would… Claire insisted. She would stick to her story like clockwork."

At the memory a barely noticeable smile crossed his face but vanished just as quickly as it had come and he resumed his narration unwavering.

"She'd say that she knew I loved her, knew that I didn't have any intentions of changing that but that I could take her word on it. That one day we would find our friendship having slipped to love without either of us noticing. That it would happen because we could not do anything against fate. Because we couldn't do anything against something which was meant to be."

He paused, briefly cherishing the moment of remembrance, finally ready to accept Claire's fantastic prediction, causing Stella to smile again.

She could so clearly picture the skeptic look he had always had in store for his late wife when she had come up with something so insubstantial like fate. God, Mac could deal with but fate was somehow a completely different story – as it was with so many people, a fact that still amazed her.

"Claire never once seemed to mind," Mac shared some more of the conversation he and his wife apparently had had on several occasions. "Not one single time did she give the impression of being jealous. – I teased her about it," he smiled somewhat impishly almost only to himself as he appeared to recall specific situations, "I asked her if I should go and kiss you right away since she seemed to be ok with it – and you know what she did?"

The break he made wasn't meant for Stella to answer yet it stretched on, prompting her to study him, meeting his eyes which were actually looking straight into hers.

"All Claire would do was smile," Mac gave the response to his own question, admiration swinging in his voice as he slightly shook his head in awe. "Smile and – tell me that she was indeed ok with it. That she no more had the power to change what was meant to be than I did and that she would let go once it was time. – And that I had to do the same in order to find ultimate happiness."

The amazement over his wife's kindness was obvious in his tone, in his eyes, in his entire body language and for a second the image of him and Claire together flashed in front of Stella's eyes.

Listening to him it was easy to picture the two of them having that conversation, cuddled on a sofa, him holding her, combing through Claire's hair absent-mindedly. Automatically, affectionately, just like he was combing now through hers.

She could clearly hear the gentleness in her voice, see her smile at Mac's unconvinced and in a way rejecting face, not bothering to try and persuade him of something she couldn't provide physical evidence for.

Involuntarily she had to smile, knowingly, meaningfully, as she, too, had had her share of Mac's unconvinced faces, the smile suddenly being wiped of her face, doubts entering her mind in its place. Doubts about his expectations, his hopes from her, from their relationship, wondering what those could be, how high they might be, afraid she might not be able to live up to them, might disappoint him.

Claire had been the most generous person she had ever known – the memories Mac was sharing with her now were only further proof to that – and she really had been a perfect wife. Had been considerate, caring, loving all the while being independent yet not once could Stella recall that Mac had mentioned to have had an argument with her. Not because Claire had always adopted to his opinion or didn't have one of her own but she had had that gift of knowing when not to pursue a topic any further, when it was time to let go and a discussion would lead to nowhere.

Nevertheless in the end she had always managed to get through Mac's thick head, to have him acknowledge that she had actually been right without making him feel pressured, sometimes even without him realizing it and it had not only been him.

Claire had worked her magic on everyone, no matter whether it had been on a professional or personal basis and while Stella was aware of her own extraordinary ability to read Mac, she knew precisely as well that she was by no means able to be like that. Regardless of how hard she would try, there would always be something she would lose her patience over, would always be something they would collide over. Would always find something to argue about.

They were simply, each in their own way, too passionate, too emotionally driven for it not to happen yet thinking about that, she recognized that it was just as essential. That their sometimes somewhat heated exchange of words was what kept them balanced, helped them to readjust their focus, to recharge, to go on with their job, basically deal with their every day lives.

It was a part of them, always had been and always would be, just like their wordless reconciliations afterwards. Those reconciliations which she already knew would become more intense with their developing relationship, would become full of passion, of their need for the other one's presence and surprising herself, she caught herself actually looking forward to those.

A hint of smile began to play around her lips as she pictured how he would take her into his arms, would hold her close, snuggle his head into her curls. Pictured all of those soft yet passionate kisses they would exchange, the tender love making which would surely result on more than one occasion, her doubts finally vanishing. Being replaced by the certainty that he did not expect her to step into Claire's shoes, that he loved her for who she was, loved her because she was who she was. Loved her because she was indeed his match; because they truly had been meant to be together.

"Claire was right," Stella quietly stated, the truth of Mac's late wife's predictions only now having fully sunken in, her eyes filling with bewilderment.

Everything, their entire relationship had evolved exactly like Claire had foretold; they had slipped from friendship to love without noticing it, without having had the intention to and their feelings now were completely natural.

Refocusing, Mac sought out her eyes, their gazes connecting, locking, their visual bond reappearing. That bond which was a symbol of their already indestructible love, the love they both knew they had deeply fallen in, knew even without telling one another so, knew because it was so clearly, so undeniably written in their eyes.

"Except that Claire never knew that she wouldn't be alive to see it happen."

The thought that had so unpredictably come to Mac's mind, voiced in toneless words, hung in the air.

Grief was overshadowing his features, the dark circles under his eyes suddenly very visible, his age showing more than it usually did. His eyes took on a distant expression, one that Stella was very familiar with, that she had already seen on many occasions, that was overflowing with emotions and instinctively she reached out for him. Her movement was rather awkward due to her significantly limited range of extension but she ignored that and the pain it caused her, consolingly cupping his cheek with her hand.

At her understanding touch his focus returned to her eyes and for a moment he simply gazed into them, tempted to lose himself in their depth. Yet he didn't, but sought out her hand instead, covering it, his fingers delicately interlacing with hers, his palm gently pressing hers against his cheek.

Cherishing the soft feel of her warm skin against his, he shut his eyes, holding her hand close, an eternity seeming to pass until his eyes fluttered open again.

Instantly they reconnected with hers, so many emotions still visible yet the pain that had been quite present only minutes ago, that she normally saw whenever he remembered, talked, thought about Claire was surprisingly vague. It was not gone, it probably never would completely as the wound was simply too deep yet solely her loving touch, the affectionate reminder of her presence had considerately diminished it. That was what the wound needed to heal, to finally become the scar it had been trying to become for years now and lifting her palm off his cheek he graced it with a tender kiss.

He attempted to offer her an appreciative smile but didn't quite succeed, too many emotions continuing to overshadow his features. Too much of that melancholic anger, that deep sympathy for Claire, for her life that had been so untimely short, had ended so unjustly, so abruptly.

"Maybe Claire did know after all," Stella suggested comforting, her eyes open and honest, his never leaving hers.

Wordlessly he turned his hand so it was palm to palm with hers, his fingers mingling with hers as he began to slowly lead her hand away from his face. She immediately felt the tension ease from her body, only now becoming aware of the actual strain the extension had been, allowing her eyes to close as Mac carefully guided her arm back beside her. He gingerly placed it on the mattress, holding on to it for another instant before he gradually pulled his fingers away from hers.

His hand moved to her face, lightly touching her forehead the moment she reopened her eyes, his somewhat thoughtful gaze fixing on hers. Still absent-mindedly he let his fingertips glide down past her eyes, over her cheek to her chin, pausing when he reached it.

"Maybe," he then murmured barely audible, removing his hand from her skin, remaining lost in thought. "Maybe she did know," he repeated, his eyes lastly clearing up again.

They locked with hers, once more building up that bond of love, exchanging silent words, an unmatched comfort settling between, filling the entire room with their peace and contentment.

His hand drifted back to her face, the back of his fingers tenderly, faintly beginning to brush over her cheek, the hint of a smile starting to appear on his lips. Little by little it took on form, this time truly reflecting what it was meant to, truly reflecting that he was indeed willing to accept the possibility that Claire had known by intuition, was willing to accept something that was beyond explanation and science.

Returning the smile affectionately, her warm eyes kept looking at his for another moment before she closed them yet another time, the grogginess still not having left her body.

Not moving an inch, he continued his soft caressing of her face, his touch tender, like a fairy's wing brushing over her cheek, eventually coming to a hesitant halt as he found his eyes to have shifted, actually staring at her facial wounds.

All of a sudden he could hear the words of her doctor again, could hear him give all of the information on her diverse injuries, on her severely bruised ribs and wrist, her twisted ankle, the surgery she was scheduled to have in two days to repair the grave damage her left shoulder had sustained.

Just as he had then, he frowned, feeling his heart growing heavy at the mere thought, glad that she had not remembered to ask. He certainly knew that she would find out sooner or later, probably sooner, probably tomorrow morning when her doctor would come to check on her.

Yet he could not bring himself to tell her, the image of the disillusionment that would spread over her features once she would find out already so clear, weighing on his mind.

Her doctor had emphasized that while being complicated, it was a low-risk surgery, nevertheless he had just as strongly pointed out that it was a painful one and simply considering it, made Mac already suffer for her.

She, he was aware of, would not waste a single breath to whine about the pain, however, there was enough she would be displeased about. Enough that she would try to argue about, an inevitable smile crossing his face as he could already quite clearly hear the dialogue in his head. See the heart-melting look she would offer him with huge green eyes, knowing exactly how she had to play him, the worst of it that he would not be able to resist her. Not for long anyway and she would most certainly talk him into letting her do desk duty a week or so after having been released from the hospital.

"What are you smiling about?" her sleep-filled voice cut into his thoughts, bringing him back to reality.

"Weren't you supposed to be asleep?" he asked in return, a little startled that she wasn't.

She didn't reply straight away but stifled a yawn, blinking a few times as she tried to force the persisting sleep out of her eyes.

"Your thinking kept me from doing so," she smiled, her tone soft and tender, making his smile turn into sheer affection.

"Besides – I'm not tired," she added, causing him to almost choke, his brows raising an instant later.

"You're not?" he questioned, his voice giving away his skepticism.

"No," she confirmed, her heavy eyelids very obviously betraying her. "I can't be," she added, prompting Mac's frown to deepen even further.

"And why can't Stella Bonasera be tired?" he inquired, a trace of amusement now in his otherwise calm tone.

"Because I have slept for hours," she complained close to childishly, his frown being released as a smile crossed his face, "more than a day," she quietly added, his hand gently stroking over her curls.

"You were unconscious, Stella," he reminded her compassionately, the indistinguishable grunt she offered meant as a response.

"That's about the same," she muttered and this time he couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"That's quite interesting," he teased, nevertheless keeping a warmth in his tone. "And certainly a very new definition of unconsciousness."

All he got was another incomprehensible grumble in return to which he simply smiled again, watching with the most tender gaze how her eyes shut once more. Yet a moment later they fluttered open, startling him for a second before her stubbornness caused a twinkle to appear in his eyes.

"You are worse than a child," he scolded, trying hard to sound as firm as he meant to.

To resist her had never been his easiest task but with what they were now sharing it was already a lot more difficult than he ever would have anticipated. Even more so when she looked everything like that child he had referred to her as.

She didn't reply, knowing that she would fall asleep some time soon any way no matter how much she would fight it, however, she was not willing to admit that just yet.

"I just want you to give your body the rest it needs so it will have the energy to heal properly," Mac whispered, completely serious again, his hand caringly running over her curls.

Once more there was no reaction on her part, her eyes staring past him as her mind debated whether or not to accept his reasoning.

"I could get a nurse to give you a sedative," she heard him barely audibly point out, her attention shifting back to him, finding him to have leaned in to her, his lips so close she could already feel their warmth.

"That would be blackmailing," she complained, his mouth grazing hers an instant later, a slight smile appearing on his face that vanished as quickly as it had come.

"And that's not fair," she mumbled, feeling him smile yet again as his lips connected with hers anew, her eyes already in the process of closing.

"That still won't make me go to sleep," she insisted, his mouth continuing to caress hers unfailing, breaking her weakened resistance, making her respond to his tenderness, gingerly kissing him back.

"Yes it will," he muttered, barely lifting his lips from hers, brushing his mouth over hers, gently massaging them, adoring the soft feel, the taste, their warmth.

It was a light kiss, his lips only grazing hers, while she remained mostly passive, savoring each tender touch, his mouth sweetly spoiling hers.

Deep inside of him he could feel amazement rising; forming into an incredulous smile as he would only hours before the bar still have denied any intention, any desire to kiss her any time soon. He might have admitted to the fact that there was some attraction, something that was going beyond friendship but a romance, a romantic relationship had seemed so distant at that time.

Yet here he was, kissing her, Stella, unable to imagine anything that he would rather do, that he would be surer about.

With their lips engaged in a delicate play he now gradually shut his eyes as well, fully concentrating on the faint contact of their mouths, bewildered that such a gentle kiss could cause emotions that were as intense. But obviously it was possible, obviously she was capable of that, an excitement rushing through his body, briefly playing with his hormones.

He was undeniably intrigued as to what other sensations Stella was able to trigger inside of him that he previously hadn't considered to be possible, unwilling to suppress the curiosity to find out.

But that would be for later, something he was very much looking forward to but for now he began to initiate the end of the kiss, drawing his head back slowly. His eyes opened when their lips parted, watching as she savored the moment, the sensations that were rallying through her body in the aftermath of the kiss. When her eyelids finally fluttered open as well, her eyes were instantly filled with an affection that was already present in his, a tender and faint smile appearing on his face.

"See," she muttered, causing his brows to raise in question. "I'm still awake," she explained and once again Mac couldn't help but feel it was a little child he was leading this conversation with.

"That's because you won't stop talking," he pointed out, his hand slipping back into her curls, his fingers tenderly combing through them.

She was about to reply when the door opened and pulling his hand out of Stella's hair, Mac turned, finding a nurse carrying a tray entering the room, a cheerful smile spread across her face.

"Looks as if I'll have to eat now," Stella stated quietly. There was not much enthusiasm in her voice and shifting his attention back to her, Mac just looked at her for an instant. He was sure she would have munched on raw green beans all day long just for the sake of not having to sleep and even though it had been more than 50 hours since she last ate – they had had that late lunch together – he doubted she was truly hungry.

"Lucky you," he nonetheless replied, a small smile appearing on his face to underline his attempt of humor.

She returned the smile almost politely, however, her features quickly grew serious again and now it were her eyes that studied him, a question clearly forming.

"Flack brought me some food while you were asleep," he assured her before she had a chance to ask, "– and I ate it as well," he added.

She didn't reply to that but offered an approving nod, another, content smile appearing on her face as she gently squeezed his hand. Reflexively, he, too, smiled at her, his free hand rising back to her face when the nurse reminded them of her ongoing presence.

"Are you up for some dinner?" she asked, moving the tray from the chair where she had left it while checking the monitors to the small table that was attached to the bed.

It wasn't really a question and Stella didn't bother to answer as the nurse was already moving to her side, carefully removing the IV line out of Stella's arm.

"You won't be needing that anymore," she stated, offering Stella a smile that she didn't respond to either.

The nurse was unimpressed and skillfully reached for her to help her sit but drew back when Stella flinched, the jolly expression vanishing from her face.

"I'm sorry," she apologized in an obvious assumption that she had hurt Stella.

Changing her approach she reached for her again, concern spreading over her features as her patient reacted in the same way.

"I'm fine," Stella snapped before the nurse was able to apologize again, confusion crossing the young woman's face as she lifted her eyes to seek out Mac's.

She would certainly have her share of difficult patients yet he was positive that those usually didn't include the ones in Stella's state and age.

"We'll manage," Mac assured her, glancing at Stella whose focus was sternly kept on her hands.

He threw the nurse a supportive smile, however, she didn't seem quite convinced and hesitated until eventually offering a nod.

"Let me know if you need anything," she instructed, leaving Stella's bedside and taking the IV stand.

Her voice was not entirely back to its original cheerfulness yet close enough and after Stella had mumbled a thanks, the nurse gave a her sweet smile. Both Mac and Stella then watched her slip from the room and for a moment their gazes remained on the closed door before Mac returned his to Stella, his eyes wandering over her in a scrutinizing look.

"I didn't need her help," Stella muttered in response to his unasked question, however, she avoided directly looking at Mac, all too aware of the inaccuracy of that statement.

"It isn't the nurse's fault though," he pointed out, her head snapping around.

Yet the glare she had intended to throw at him was lost in the painful grimace she pulled her face in to, cursing quietly in a mixture of English and Greek and closing her eyes, she let her head roll back into the pillows. Nevertheless a second later she was struggling in an attempt to sit and inadvertently Mac marveled at how at times she had an even more stubborn head than him.

He didn't say anything though and silently stood, assisting her once again as good and carefully as possible to get her battered body into a somewhat upright position.

"I'll make those two suffer hell for that alone," Stella exclaimed between breaths, surprising Mac by leaning into his arms for support.

A small smile crossed his face and he halted his movements, giving her the possibility to adjust as he took a moment to look at her. He was unable to ignore the tiny feel of relief inside of him that she had finally offered an annoyed reaction and although it had been rather insignificant, it was all he asked for.

Still supporting her, he brought the top of her bed up, gently settling her against it.

"Thanks," she offered quietly, as she sank into the pillows, her eyes only grazing his before falling once again on the tray of food.

Suppressing the sigh he felt the urge to release, he sat back down next to her, realizing too late that she had shifted and was pulling the table towards her on her own. She didn't flinch but let out the breath she had been holding upon dropping back against the pillows, closing her eyes as she did so.

Watching her, Mac felt the so familiar sensation of guilt and sympathy surface, his hand almost automatically rising, his fingertips brushing over her skin a second later. They came to a halt when her eyes fluttered open and a little tentatively her gaze met his. For a moment their eyes held on to each other, so few yet so many emotions visible in hers, his hand sliding from her cheek over her shoulder to cautiously pull her closer. She was reluctant at first but eventually leaned in to him, letting him gingerly hold her.

"What's wrong with the shoulder?" she wanted to know, freeing herself a bit from his embrace so her eyes could find his.

Despite his effort and although her gaze was holding no expectations, he couldn't keep his features from sagging. There was a tiny flicker of hope that shone through and it was that which was responsible for that stab in his heart, making an answer all the more difficult. Yet he was aware that there was no way around it this time and slowly, he let his hands glide off of her, trailing them down her arms until he reached her hands. His fingers gently intertwined with the ones of her uninjured arm, his eyes following, watching his fingers caress hers, before taking them in a tender but firm hold.

As factual as possible he informed her about what she desired and more importantly deserved to know, the hope in her eyes crumbling fast.

"Surgery?" she mumbled, once he was finished, not really asking.

Her eyes didn't leave his and she tried hard for her voice not to sound as crestfallen as she felt, yet she was unsuccessful.

"Sounds like I'm in for some real fun," she added, attempting to smile at him but failing miserably in that as well.

He forewent a reply and instead lifted his hand to again guide it to her cheek, gently resting his palm against it. His thumb caringly stroked her soft skin for a moment, then he halted, his fingers simply lying on her face until he gradually drew them back.

"I'm sorry, Stella," he quietly offered to which she made another effort to smile. It was still not quite there yet, nonetheless more distinct than the one before.

"Don't be," she declined his words of sympathy, studying him as she did.

He knew what she was looking for, however, this time it wasn't guilt which had driven him to say what he had and she seemed to come to the same conclusion, finally tearing her gaze away from his.

"It's not your fault," she pointed out as she listlessly returned her attention to the tray in front of her, inspecting the food without much enthusiasm.

Nonetheless Mac let go of her hand, leaving her with the opportunity to reach for the spoon and eventually she did. She dropped it into the soup, stirring the cooled liquid, staring as the brew moved in sync with her motions.

"Maybe I'll get at least a cookie with my dinner then," she remarked, glancing at Mac who was not showing any sign of reaction.

"That was supposed to be funny," she prompted, his brows rising in response.

"I'm smiling," he assured her, pulling his lips into something that was supposed to represent a smile, making her smile with it.

"That needs practice," she quietly concluded, his features growing serious again.

"Stella…" he began yet she cut in before he was able to go on.

"It's alright, Mac," she guaranteed, her eyes finally locking with his. "It's just – surgery."

Holding her gaze with his, he couldn't help the faint smile which formed on his lips despite the serious undertone of their conversation. He was sure that her stubborn mind was already busying itself with a way around the precautions and possibilities to shorten both her stay in the hospital as well as at home.

"I'm not really hungry," she muttered after a moment, letting go of the spoon and leaning back in the pillows.

Inevitably Mac's eyes shifted to her, studying her, then the food before returning to her with a frown.

"Stella…" he started even though he knew far better than to mother her but the word had come out of his mouth without him having a chance to control it.

The glare she threw him dared him to go on and despite the fatigue her eyes were filled with, it would have pierced right through anyone who happened to pass.

He, however, was unaffected, staring right back, yet less determined, slowly realizing that she might be quite uncomfortable with him sitting her and watching her eat.

"I could go grab a cup of coffee," he offered.

Given the uneasiness the drinking had caused her earlier he was sure that eating was even worse and he was already about to get up when she, much to Mac's surprise, slightly shook her head. A quick grimace over the pain followed but the debate she was leading with herself was clearly visible, her desire for him to stay so strong yet just as difficult to coordinate with her self-reliant personality.

Nevertheless she was apparently unable to verbally admit to what her gesture had expressed, the answer Mac was waiting for not coming. Instead she cast her eyes downward, then shifted it to the food in front of her, once more stirring the now surely cold soup.

She stole another quick glance sideways but finally began to eat, having to pause after the first spoon. The position she or more specifically her body was in was causing her an obvious effort, the adjusting she did not getting her any more comfortable. Nevertheless she continued to eat, her movements slow and strained and for a split second Mac was tempted to offer his help. Yet before the words had found his mouth, he swallowed them down, knowing that the thought alone would be close to a death sentence – even for him.

As silence settled between them, he started to feel a bit awkward, contemplating to initiate a conversation and while there was a lot they could have talked about, he opted against it. Nothing seemed appropriate and talking to her would have meant looking at – something which he wasn't so sure she would appreciate.

Uncertain as to where to look, he lowered his gaze to inspect the bandage around his sprained wrist yet he had to admit that it was less than fulfilling. He lifted his eyes again, only briefly halting at Stella before glancing around the room.

The monitor was still dutifully recording her vitals and he spent an instant watching the numbers, aware that in the past day and a half he had learnt more about the digits and graphs than he would have thought possible.

"According to the doctor, you'll be taken off the monitor tomorrow," Mac informed her, remembering that the doctor had told him that they would keep her under surveillance for another 24 hours after she had woken up.

Again, he shifted his eyes to Stella, not surprisingly meeting her gaze, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"That's something," she barely audibly approved, her point of focus going back to the food in front of her rather reluctantly.

She took another spoonful of soup, then put the spoon down, pushing the table further away from her. Only half of her dinner was gone but Mac was glad that she had eaten at all and leaving it at that, he slowly got up. He pulled the table back to the foot of her bed and after placing the tray on the chair by the door he returned to her side, studying her a little hesitantly.

When he didn't sit back down, her eyes moved up to his, however, she drew them away just as quickly and he bent forward, readjusting the bed so the mattress was flat again. She was already in the process of lying down by the time he was done, nevertheless he gently helped her back into the pillows, the few labored breaths indicating that, although a lot easier, that cost her still enough pain.

"I guess this a preview of how it will be once we're old and shaky," she stated, closing her tired eyes while Mac fluffed the pillow next to her head.

"Only that it will be our kids helping us then," he casually pointed out, her eyelids shooting up, the exhaustion completely vanished from her eyes and features for a split second.

"Kids?" she repeated, slightly pulling her brows together, an emphasis lying on the plural.

Her eyes met Mac's and a grin was quick for form on his lips yet there was no answer.

"Do I get to have a say in that, too?" she wanted to know, a thoughtfulness crossing Mac's features.

He took another moment, tenderly slipping his hand back into hers, his fingers finding their way in between hers and locking them together.

"No," he concluded, replacing the consideration with a smirk. "But I'll let you recover first."

"How generous," she retorted, the fatigue having returned to her voice. "Maybe I should reconsider the relationship," she pointed out.

"It's too late for that," he replied, coming a bit closer, the fingertips of his free hand gently running over her forehead. "You kissed me."

"I could just blame it on the pain killers," she stated, giving him something close to a shrug, a mischievous spark finding its way through the tired mist of her eyes.

"I'd only accept that theory if you can provide conclusive evidence to back it up," he smiled, diminishing the distance between them further while a faint smile appeared on her lips as well.  
"Who says, I can't?" she challenged, her fingers beginning to tumble around his as her eyes started to close in anticipation of what was to come

"I do," he whispered, returning the loving play her fingers offered, his lips faintly brushing hers.

"Then that doesn't count," she mumbled, pulling his hand back into a firm grip the instant their eyes shut and a split second later, their mouth connected.

Their smiles quickly faded as emotions took over, guiding them into the tender caressing of their lips and letting themselves be drawn from reality, they sank into their kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

So, I finally managed to finish the epilogue I promised. I'm sorry it has taken so long but I got a lot less writing done that I thought I would while on vacation and I spent some time writing other stuff once I was home again before I motivated myself to review this.

But here it is now, all done.

Thanks for all the reviews and alerts. And as always, thanks Lily for the read-through and correcting!

* * *

With only a towel around his waist to hide his manliest parts and rubbing his hair with a different one, Mac stepped from the bathroom back into the bedroom, a smile forming on his lips. Yet it vanished the moment he found the bed to be empty except for a black and white ball of fur. When detangled, it was better known as felis catus or simpler, cat, however, curled and buried in the covers, the animal was hard to identify as such.

Throwing the towel used to dry his hair, carelessly onto the bed, the cat's head shot up, her eyes opening to glare at the perpetrator who had almost thrown the wet piece of fabric on top of her. She seemed to decide whether or not to even bother with such a hopeless creature, her conclusion obviously indifference as she got up and stretched gracefully. Moving away from the towel, she dropped her delicate body at the next best spot before curling back into the ball she had previously been in.

Acknowledging her with a quick pat, Mac made his way to the door, a smile briefly spreading over his face. It had been barely a week but the kitten had adjusted within a couple of days, having fully accepted her new home – just like her owner had.

With the towel still the only thing covering his muscular body, Mac stepped into the living-room, his smile growing wider at the noises which then touched his ear. Something about it had felt natural right from the first day and by now he had gotten so used to those typical cluttering of mornings that even after such a short amount of time he couldn't imagine going without it.

However, as he walked towards the kitchen, he forced his smile to fade, knowing before he reached it that those sounds meant something other than harmony; meant that she had broken their deal. Not for the first time and in a way he had expected nothing different from her, but on the contrary to the other times, he was now at home able to catch her in the act.

Halting in the doorway of the kitchen, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, watching her gather the ingredients for breakfast. Despite his disapproval he couldn't help but notice how skillfully she managed with only one arm, the other one held close to her body, covering the Chicago lettering of the t-shirt she was wearing.

It prompted him to have to fight another smile, the t-shirt – his t-shirt – naturally hanging loosely around her slender frame. Regardless, she seemed to have fallen in love with it for a reason unknown to him, having used it as a nighty from the first night on after she had been released from the hospital. He hadn't even realized that it was his until the morning after that first night; until he had come out of the bathroom – fully dressed then – and had seen her scramble out of bed a bit sleepily.

It was still a mystery to him how she had managed to sneak it out of his closet unnoticed as he had gathered and packed as well as unpacked all of his clothes himself. Therefore he was sure that she had not squeezed the t-shirt into the bag, that being almost impossible anyway since she had for the most part been sitting on the bed, watching, becoming friends with the other lady in his life. Yet all she offered when asked was a secretive smile, apparently not intending to reveal the answer any time soon.

But it didn't change the fact that he loved it on her, loved the sensation, the warmth which spread through his body each time he saw her in it. What he also loved was what wasn't covered by the t-shirt, her lean legs catching once again his attention. Whereas he had only glanced at them a few days ago, he was staring openly at them now and although her legs were certainly not the ones of a model, he found them perfectly shaped.

This time he couldn't resist the small smile tugging at the corners of his lips and it automatically grew as his eyes trailed further up her body. Most of the detail was hidden by the fabric of the t-shirt, yet he was sufficiently familiar with it to know what he would be seeing would she be wearing something more fitting – or nothing at all.

Struggling to get his wandering thoughts back under control, he reached her face, his eyes tenderly moving over her features. The swelling and bruising were gone, two stitched-up cuts which would, according to the doctor heal without leaving scars, all that was still visible. While he would not have cared had it been otherwise, it was what she deserved, that and nothing less, nonetheless it was not so much the looks of her face he noticed each morning but rather her curls.

The cute, small mess, that he had come to adore and which fell entangled around her face and neck and right now, was testing his willpower even further. So far he had each morning enjoyed tenderly brushing through them, detangling them with his fingers – even though she insisted that he was making things worse. Nevertheless it was obvious that she, too, was taking pleasure in that soft caressing of his, always finding a witty excuse as to why he needed to continue when he pretended to give in to her complaints.

"I know for sure that you have clothes to wear to work in the closet," her firm voice drew his focus on to her as she had apparently finally become aware of his presence.

His eyes caught hers and for a moment the amused challenge they were full of held him captive before he got his mind going again.

"We have a deal that includes meal preparations," he pointed out purposely ignoring her comment. His tone was determined, leaving her no room to argue yet she obviously was searching for a little opening anyway.

"It's just breakfast, Mac," she shrugged with her good shoulder as if she was not seeing the point of his concern all the while being aware of it.

"Breakfast did not fall out of the meal category since yesterday," he maintained his position. "From a scientific point of view it's even the most important one," he added, not moving an inch.

"That doesn't apply to us though," she argued and he had to give her that one. Neither he nor she were much of breakfast people; him because he thought it was somewhat of a waste of time, her because she preferred to use the time to sleep, therefore their meals in the morning had so far been rather limited.

"But the deal is applying to you, Stella," he reminded her to which she opened her mouth for further protest, however, he cut in before she was able to voice it.

"Fine, let's call it off, I prefer you'd stay home another week at least anyway." His statement was clear and he could see in her eyes that she was contemplating whether he was serious or not, a slight fear that her deal was in danger visible.

The day she had been released from the hospital, it had taken her precisely 4 hours and 22 minutes to talk him into exactly what he had predicted – letting her go to work after only a week. Or rather, it had taken him that long to officially agree, one single look into her eyes having been enough to convince him – and that had taken less than two seconds; her green eyes having been the exact color like the cat's; having been just as huge and full of that compassionate plea the little kitten bestowed upon him in the similar situations.

Nevertheless he had kept her in suspense for the remaining 261 minutes and thus had been able to cut the deal that she was allowed back to work only if she spend the following week resting. Of course, she had tried to argue that, quite well actually, and he had been tempted to suggest she'd start a second career as a lawyer. But he had managed to stand firm and while she had done so with a certain reluctance, she had eventually agreed.

The first two days she had even kept to it, pleasing the cat by resting on the couch and offering her someone to cuddle with. However, he had soon found out that that had been due to a decrease in the dosage of painkillers which taking she had for the most part already restricted to nights only while still in the hospital. Therefore it was the pain – she had assured Mac she was not in – rather than her sense of responsibility that had restrained her to cat-sitting and concluding that the TV program was not worth watching during the day.

But she had quickly grown tired of it, the pain while not significantly, having subdued enough for her to be at least for part of the day ignorable.

"Mac…" she now started to object and he wordlessly raised his brows, daring her to say another word.

She didn't, instead responded with a silent stare, one of those stiff looks that she liked to glare him down with, however, he could not avoid to notice how tired her eyes were, It was the result of another disturbed night, none of them having, so far, been peaceful, her sleep restless and apparently full of troubling dreams.

But while he, a light sleeper, had been awoken by it each night, she had not and a few times when she had stirred, his touch had, to his relief been sufficient to soothe her, making her shift into his arms to fall into a much calmer slumber. Last night though, the nightmare had again been too cruel and she had once more woken with a start, muttering his name under her breath, shock written all over her features.

Assuring her of his presence, he had, as he had done the previous nights, immediately pulled her close, laying his hand tenderly on her cheek to gently press her head against his heart. He had found its beating to comfort her, reaffirming her safety; something he would have preferred not to have to grant her now but wished he had been able to provide her with that night nearly three weeks ago instead.

Yet that he hadn't; hadn't been able to protect her with those protective arms she was seeking each night and that he always wrapped around her tight when she cradled into his chest.

It was a feeling of comfort for her as much as it was to him, her soft breathing luring all of the alternatives of the outcome of that night out of hiding and back into his mind, inviting them to party with one of his greatest fears. However, it was that same smooth rising and falling of her torso which also gave him the support he needed to fight those, which he needed so he could solely concentrate on her.

Nonetheless he found himself strengthening the hold on her every time, having to confirm for him that she continued to be safe, his fingers then starting to stroke up and down her arm. Soothing her, as did the words he whispered into her ear while she wound her uninjured arm around his body, her fingers, like the one's of a small child, clawing into the fabric of his night t-shirt.

At first this had startled him; her need for his closeness, for his touch so contradictory to her almost stubborn independency and different from any help she had accepted from him due to physical incapacity. Yet by the second night he had understood and suddenly it had also made sense why she had at times jerked from her sleep when he had been with her in the hospital.

Nevertheless the realization that she was haunted by something she had suffered through had caused a different confusion as for some strange reason he had never thought she would be. A conclusion, he had seconds later acknowledged to be solely based on her outward character, on the infinite strength she let others believe she was made of. He, however, should and did know better, he was aware of the very vulnerable woman who was beneath that shell and it had caused him to wonder for the first time if there was something she might have never shared with him after the incident with Frankie. Suddenly he had doubted that she really had been fine as she had repeatedly assured him when she had come back to work or if she had simply ignored her fears; had buried her weakness so nothing would scratch that invincible image of hers.

By now, he was fairly sure that that was the case and that she had to suffer the consequences as a supposedly locked door had obviously been opened, setting free memories that were hungry to resume their evil. It was most likely why her nightmares were as intense, two instead of one attack confronting her in her sleep, without a doubt merging forces at night.

Furthermore they had fired another regret at him; he hadn't wanted her back on the job so soon all those years ago. However, after five days, she had almost begged him, promising him she was ok and since her psychological evaluation had been fine, he had, against his better judgment, relented.

He simply had been unable to resist her any longer, a thought he knew was somewhat ridiculous; him melting under a mere look of hers. But he had and he knew he always would and while it came with certain costs every now and then, he couldn't deny that there was something oddly soothing about it as well. It was that sensation which always weakened whatever regrets and doubts he had, managing to bring a smile to his face in even the most upsetting situations.  
"Did you go back to sleep?" her somewhat distant but nonetheless concerned voice drew him away from his thoughts.

Meeting her eyes he shook his head and for a moment she wordlessly returned the look before responding with a single nod, turning away from him an instant later to finish preparing the coffee.

The silent nod was her standard reaction; not once had she so far apologized for waking him and keeping him awake at night and he would never dream of asking her to. There would be a point in the near future when she would tell him she was sorry anyway, he had no doubt about it and even then he would assure her that there was nothing she had to be sorry for. Now, however, her need for him, for his sheltering arms around her was stronger than any pride, than any feel of guilt could and ever would be; the nightmares vivid and he knew they were going beyond a badly beaten body and shock.

How far exactly, he was not aware of as she had yet to talk about them. He wasn't so sure that she ever would, having the nightmares, admitting that even she was not immune to the consequences of such an attack, was difficult enough for her to accept. Nonetheless he wouldn't push her; all he wanted for her was to be able to put it behind her as quickly as possible, hoping that she would finally have the possibility to come to terms with what happened with Frankie as well. If at one stage, she would need him to do more than hold her at night, to soothe her, so she could eventually go back to sleep, he would be there for her but until then he was content with doing just that.

Generally, she calmed down rather fast, her body always relaxing after a few minutes. Yet it was the falling asleep which was the difficulty, a very humanly fear of another nightmare keeping her awake. It was, of course, another thing she hadn't voiced and he was sure she would deny it if he asked, however, he could tell from the way she always jerked back to awareness as soon as she started to doze off.

This night it had been three hours until fatigue had been able to overwhelm her and he had finally felt her breathing to slip into the slow rhythm of sleep. With only another two hours left, he had chosen to stay awake, continuing with the gentle caressing of her arm, her entire sleep actually quiet and seemingly deep.

He had dreaded the ringing of the alarm clock and had briefly considered slipping her out of his arms to switch it off before she woke. But he knew much better than to do something she would not approve of and a minute prior to the alarm clock going off, he had gently woken her with a rain of feathery kisses.

"How about a proper good morning?" the memory of kisses cued him to ask.

"You already got one," she replied, referring to the somewhat incomprehensible mumbling she had greeted him with upon having been awoken.

She was now leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for the coffee to finish, obviously displeased with his strict sticking to the deal.

"You consider that a good morning?" he inquired, raising his brows, now leaving his spot by the door to come closer.

"I can say it again," she offered, her eyes wandering over his bare chest before moving back up to his.

"I was thinking about – something different," he admitted, stopping in front of her, her features remaining expressionless.

"You're not getting anything different from me," she informed him, the hint of teasing in her voice almost non-audible.

"Why not?" he wanted to know, his hands snaking around her waist as he took another step towards her, his body meeting hers.

While she was still sensitive to touch, she was, to his relief, in no way withdrawn from him. Of course, he hadn't pushed it, it was her who set the pace, yet kissing had never been out of the question and she had quickly overcome her hesitancy of bodily contact – his at least, almost needing it now.

"You don't deserve one," she stated, provoking his brows once again to rise.

"I don't?" he made sure, his eyes locking with hers.

"No," she confirmed, placing the hand of her good arm on his chest, her gaze shifting on to it as well.

"Why not?" he questioned, bending down to her as her thumb began to stroke over his skin, her eyes being lifted back to his in one swift motion.

"Several reasons," she answered vaguely, her voice low and soft, his mouth only millimeters from hers.

"Care to share?" he whispered, his lips already grazing hers, an anticipation arising. It was identical to the one which had rushed through their bodies before their first kiss and they knew it kindled that flame of passionate pleasure that would burn as long as their beating hearts would feed it.

"I'm not sharing you," she replied, nibbling at his lips, stimulating that fire even further.

"Good to know," he mumbled, his mouth finally pulling hers into tender kiss.

The sensation which immediately took over their bodies was by now entirely familiar, their bodies reacting on pure instinct as their lips floated across the other ones. Nonetheless each touch was tailed with a tingle of excitement and allowing themselves to get caught into that web of emotions, they drew one another deeper into the loving play, sailing into a new journey of exploration.

They never tired of taking it, never would, their desire for each other having built for too long. Still, they didn't try to make up for lost time, both believing they would lose too much additional time by doing that. Instead they savored every moment and second spent together, living those to its full potential.

However, those were no more endless than any others and although they certainly would have loved it to, they knew the kiss couldn't go on forever, their lips slowly beginning to separate. Parting, their faces remained close, their eyes opening simultaneously, pure affection visible in both of their gazes.

"Good morning," she whispered, a smile crossing his face.

"Good morning to you, too," he answered, their lips meeting once more for a tender kiss. "How are you?" he asked softly, earning a simple shrug in response.

"Ok," she gave the standard answer; ok was translating into being as well as she could be, not wanting to lie to him and say she was fine but not wanting to show too much weakness by telling him the entire truth either.

Holding on to her eyes, he drew the information he needed from them, silence settling as she withstood his gaze, her determination not to pull away amazing him.

"I think you should get dressed," Stella's voice broke the stillness, a mischievous spark briefly lighting his eyes. "There is no way I'm allowing you to go into work like that," she added, withdrawing her hand from his chest, the lack of its warmth leaving him with a subtle longing.

"I might like to know how you'd keep me from doing so," he considered, his embrace tightening around her, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You don't," she simply said and from the way her eyes left his, he knew that she was not entirely comfortable with his implication.

"I…" he started yet she didn't allow him to finish.

"It's alright, Mac," she assured, a warm, genuine smile appearing on her lips.

Studying her, he forced a rather tentative smile to respond to hers, not entirely convinced it was as alright as she said.

"I always knew your brain wasn't working any different from any men's when it comes to that," she added teasingly, successfully breaking the tension – as she had so often during the past two weeks.

"Maybe I should go in to work like that," he countered, his concern not completely vanished but significantly diminished.

"Don't you dare," she threatened, his smirk being met with a not-so-gentle nudge into his side yet all of a sudden it vanished, his arms leaving her body as abruptly.

"I'll put it on later, Mac," she assured holding on to his scrutinizing gaze.

"Wearing the sling is part of the deal, Stella," he pointed out, doubtful that she would if he wasn't around.

"I know," she grumbled, lowering her eyes to avoid his somewhat intense stare.

She had more than once complained how uncomfortable it was and then thrown a menacing glare at Mac when he had remarked that the discomfort she felt lay solely in the fact that she was trying to use her arm beyond the restricted movement the sling restrained her to.

"But it's not fair," she mumbled, his brows raising yet her eyes still hadn't returned to hers.

"We can call the deal off anytime," Mac offered, the look she shot him potentially deadly but certainly not new to him. It was a mystery to him though how she was able to create the exact same glare each time he mentioned the possibility of calling off the deal, having secretly hoped she would agree at one point.

Even though he couldn't deny the faint delight he felt whenever he thought about her being back in the lab alongside him, he really would have preferred for her to stay home another seven days at least. After all the surgery had been only two weeks ago and a lot of everyday tasks remained an effort for her, the exhaustion always visible in her eyes in the evenings.

Yet the one time he had tried to talk to her about it she had skillfully weakened all of his points, arguing that he had restricted her to paperwork, that there was nothing exhausting about that and it surely would not cause her scar to reopen. Her main emphasis, however, had been on the fact that he would allow her to leave as soon as she felt the need to and that he had not been able to dispute. Thus the deal was still standing and she was going back to work tomorrow.

"You're still not dressed," she diverted the topic, a quick smile crossing his face.

"Because you're not wearing the sling yet," he countered softly, placing a tender kiss on her lips before turning to grab two mugs out of a cabinet.

He poured each of them some of the freshly brewed coffee and handing her one of the mugs, he made his way out of the kitchen, her following closely. Together they stepped into the bedroom a few moments later, the kitten still curled up at the foot of the bed.

Setting her mug on her nightstand, Stella obediently scraped the sling off the floor where she had left it the previous night and under Mac's almost supervising gaze put it on. Dropping down next to the cat once she was done, said animal lifted her head, curious as to who had disturbed her and acknowledging the two intruders with a yawn, she snuggled back into the covers.

A smile on his lips, Mac strolled over to the closet and after he had put his own mug on the windowsill, he began to sort through the somewhat piled up clothes in a drawer. It was one of the two Stella had provisionally vacated for him; until they had time to replace the closet with a bigger one – or as she had even hinted at yesterday morning, they had found a bigger, more suitable apartment for the two of them preferably with a walk-in closet. However, before that happened, this had to do and after moving several items of clothing he came across the ones he desired. He threw the socks into the general direction of the bed, a habit she had quirked her eyebrows over at first. But he had explained that he usually put them on last, sitting on the bed, so he had started to throw them there long ago.

Now, though he was considering whether to get into his underwear first and then discard of the towel or do it the other way around; his decision to remove it from his body first, very well aware of the timid but interested eyes she was watching him with.

As he was sure hers was, too, his own heart started to beat faster, the certainty of her observing gaze causing a warm sensation to spread through his every nerve. He fumbled a bit with the small piece of fabric in his hand before finally slipping it on, sliding into the pants he had taken off a chair next to the closet a moment later. With his chest still bare he then turned his attention towards the closet again, knowing she would surely appreciate if he took his time deciding which shirt to wear.

"Why did you call her Stella again?" Stella's voice caught his attention, another brief smile appearing and vanishing on his face.

She had loved his explanation right from the first time when he had told her; when he had no choice other than to do so since she had not for a single moment believed that the cat's name was Stellar and not Stella as he had tried to convince her upon her surprise over hearing him call for his furry companion.

"You know that already," he pointed out, turning around.

Stella sat cross legged on the bed, caringly stroking over the kitten's soft fur and for a second he just enjoyed the picture, a warmth circling his heart, extending from there through his entire body. It was the same warmth that he had felt a few days ago while he had picked up his clothes and Stella had joined him in the bedroom. She had been carrying the cat over one shoulder, the tiny paws of the kitten wrapped around it like a child's hand, pointing out that this "cute, little something" had crossed her path. With an affectionate smile he had then watched her make herself comfortable on the bed with such a care that one could have thought it really was a baby she was holding, before she had inquired as to why there already was a lady living with him.

He had found the kitten only four week prior in a box by the dumpster as the sole survivor of her three siblings and mother and due to work he had not had a chance to mention his newest roommate to Stella. Yet his concern that she might not approve of someone else than him moving in with her had, in that instant, evaporated, the human one immediately falling in love with her smaller namesake.

"I forgot," she replied, a mischievous spark crawling into her eyes as she slid off the bed. "Must be the painkillers," she suggested, slowly coming closer, his skeptical eyes being betrayed by the smirk that formed on his face.

"You're not taking any," he reminded her, the smirk now crossing her features.

"I did, last night – and I think they – affect my memory." He almost choked on the laugh he was suppressing, observing her inch further towards him until she was less than an arm length away.

"In that case," he smiled, diminishing the remaining distance between them, his arms once again circling her waist.

He leaned into her, joining his lips with hers, allowing each other a moment to cherish the renewed connection of their mouth before drawing apart again.

"You and she have the same eye color," he whispered into her ear, a faint look of pleasant surprise appearing on her face as he hadn't previously mentioned that, his lips then returning to hers.

Willingly she responded, receptive to each tiny touch he offered and only reluctantly permitting him to pull back.

"That's not all," she mumbled, opening her eyes which instantly locked with his.

"I thought you had forgotten," he remarked.

"I have," she assured, her eyes full of innocence, the spark which lighted them reflected in the small smile that was gracing her lips.

"Then how come you know there's more?" he questioned, his face still so close that their breaths were touching.

"I'm a detective," she explained and this time it was her who initiated the kiss, the reunion of their lips seeming to last forever, yet it was barely a minute until they separated again.

"Then you shouldn't have forgotten, that the kitten reminded me of you," he whispered, that being something he had realized the same night the cat had moved in with him. After restraining him to the sofa for almost an hour, bribing him with her presence in his lap, she had later very persistently played with his bare feet until he had given up the paperwork in order to entertain his new companion before he finally had to give in to her heart-melting meowing and had opened his bedroom door so the kitten could cuddle at the foot of his bed.

"She did?" Stella asked, gently urging him to go on.

"She still does," Mac confirmed, a mischievous smile flashing across Stella's face.

She glanced over her shoulder, finding the kitten still curled in a ball, completely indifferent to anything going on around her.

"I fail to see the resemblance," Stella concluded as she shifted her point of attention back to him, her voice almost challenging.

"It's more in her character," he told her, a look of interest crossing her features.

"She's an angel then?" she inquired, her voice as well as her eyes so innocent that one could really have gotten the impression that it was supposed to be an honest question.

"If angels are overly curious, stubborn, determined, independent but very much in need of someone to love them and always able to twist me around their little finger – or paw – to in the end get what they desire – yes," Mac murmured in her ear, the warm smile which her lips formed in to growing with each word.

"They might just be," Stella suggested, her eyes glowing with the same affection as his.

"I know the one I'm living with is," he barely audible said, a split second before he tenderly pressed his lips back on hers.

Pulling her a bit closer, the gentle play grew more demanding, her arm moving around his hips, sliding further up until her fingers grazed his bare back, his hands, on the contrary, slowly wandering down. As he engaged her deeper into the kiss, his palms began to trace the round form of her behind before gliding beyond the hem of the t-shirt and slipping underneath the fabric.

It was a light touch, his fingertips barely contacting her skin yet she nonetheless pulled away from him and while his hands left her body a second later, puzzlement quickly filled his eyes. They had gone further the night before – a lot further; what had been supposed to be a simple good-night-kiss having turned into an affectionate acquainting on the only level they hadn't known each other before even though he had been hesitant to take it there.

Memories of how she had tensed under his brief touch just a few days prior in the hospital when he had been the sole one allowed to provide any help, including to change, after the surgery, were still vivid and he hadn't wanted to go too far too soon.

But last night she had wanted more, had wanted to take things to the next step, had wanted to show him the endless, unconditional love and more importantly trust she bestowed upon him. It had been so clearly visible in her eyes; in those same eyes that she had at one point shut, handing herself over to him completely and relaxing more and more under each caress.

Overcoming his doubts, he had eventually allowed himself to lose himself in the silky feel of her skin, handling it with such a care as if it had been porcelain, savoring each touch, each taste as if it were the last. And while she had neither physically nor psychologically been ready to go all the way – and certainly wouldn't be for some time – being able to pull her into his arms, to feel the warmth of her skin against his, brushing his fingers over her bare back as they had fallen asleep had rounded up that perfect night.

Now, however, those doubts were back again and he wondered if he did have taken things too far; if she had, in contrast to what he would expect of her, not stopped him so she wouldn't disappoint him; if he had misread the signs and the night's events had been a strain rather than pleasure to her.

"You're going to be late," her slightly breathless voice cut into his concerns before he had a chance to apologize.

There was another flash of confusion until his mind found the context to her words, relief following instantly and realizing that her hand was still securely wrapped around his body, his snuck back under the t-shirt.

"I'm the boss," he dismissed her concern, his fingers settling on her lower back as he pulled her once more closer, his lips finding hers only an instant later.

"Mac," she protested with his mouth covering hers yet he ignored it, taking advantage of knowing that she not completely rejected his change of attitude. On contrary, he was aware that she deep down inside loved that there was finally something he put before work again and even more did she love to be that something – or rather someone. Nonetheless had she more than once pointed out his unusual behavior, warning him to be careful so he wouldn't push it too far and he knew she was right. In all areas concerned.

He himself wasn't so sure as to what or how it had happened or if he was honest with himself, he was sure; he had fallen in love with his best friend and madly so. That, however, didn't alter the fact that he had made a promise to himself years ago that he would never benefit from his position in that sort of way and so far, he had been good.

Yet that first kiss he had shared with Stella had made an unexplainable difference of some sort and he couldn't deny the faint enjoyment he took out of certain liberties which came with being the boss. Of course, would she ever catch him abusing his status for personal gain, he could be positive she would raise hell. But while it was tempting, especially with her in his arms, he didn't intend on doing anything like it and until now he just had profited from the reassurance that any delayed arrival would not have consequences.

Still not ready to grow back into a responsible adult, he continued to ease her reluctance, reaching for her tongue. A bolt of desire shot through his body, her mouth pressing eagerly against his as she finally gave in to his demands. Guided by their emotions, they left on another journey of exploration, following their instincts into that world they had created. That universe of their own, that only access to was through their hearts.

Handing her the lead on the ongoing travel, he slowly slid his hands up her back, the tips of his fingers tracing her spine as he did. He adored the response her body automatically offered, the tenderness of her skin combined with her trained muscles already addictive.

Increasing the intensity of his feathery touch, he urged her torso even closer to his when she began to back away. For an instant he seemed to consent but deepened the kiss again, a renewed effort from her to end it following. He responded once more by re-engaging her into a more passionate play of their lips, eventually though he let reason take over, allowing her to pull away.

Keeping his eyes shut, he felt her forehead sink against his and concentrating on the gradual but constant calming of her heavier breathing, he slowly withdrew his hands from underneath her t-shirt.

"I love you, Stella," he whispered as he opened his eyes again and wrapping his arms back around her waist, he found her eyelids to flutter open as well.

It was by no means the first time he had offered those words of affection; that had been the morning of her operation when they had waited for the nurse to take her down to surgery and he had held her hand, their fingers tenderly caressing one another's. Since then those tender words had flowed out of his mouth several times, almost gaining in meaning each time he said them. At that morning, however, they had, in fact, been the only words exchanged between them; the only ones worth saying, touches and looks having expressed everything else that had needed to be expressed and had done so far better than any words could have.

Just like her squeezing of his hand in response had told him that she, too, loved him but would not voice it until after the surgery, so she had a reason to pull through in case something would go wrong, as she had later confided in him.

Nothing had gone wrong, she had been brought to the recovery room a few minutes after the scheduled two hours and one and a half hours later she had joined him back in her room where he had waited. Despite a visible exhaustion she had only needed a second to figure out that he had obviously taken the day off without telling her, the smile which had instantly lit her face showing him how much she appreciated the surprise.

Instead of a thank you, she had then offered her verbal "I love you" before their lips had melted into a tender kiss.

"I love you, Mac," she now replied as quietly as he had, the warmth and love floating amongst the green of her gaze appearing to multiply each time those words were spoken.

"And I would love you even more if you would let go of me now," she added flirtatiously, a faint smile spreading over his face.

"My hands could be stuck to the t-shirt," he suggested, her brows rising a bit skeptically.

"How would that have happened?" she inquired, a playful spark joining the other emotions in her eyes.

"I would have to investigate that," he muttered, leaning in to her again, his lips gently nudging her ear. "While holding you, of course," he added in that same quiet, husky voice, beginning to rain light kisses along her jaw line. Yet before he could take it any further, she pulled away, eyeing him coquettishly.

"There is always the possibility of taking the t-shirt off," she pointed out dryly, her voice making it very clear that she was referring to the fact that he would then not have to hold her. Nevertheless a boyish grin flashed across his features, his eyes lighting with desire.

"Mac Taylor!" she scolded before he had a chance to comment on what she had said, however, he was quick to feign ignorance and innocence.

"You better get those thoughts out of your head and zip them back into your pants or a lecture from Sinclair of how you're not supposed to engage a subordinate in a romantic relationship in the first place and certainly not when it's affecting work will be the least of your problems!" As serious as her voice was, he knew that she wasn't, at least not entirely, but the truth which was hidden in her statement had him flinch nevertheless.

He had taken two days off on short notice – he had also spent the day after her surgery with her – and today would be the third day he would be late in not even two weeks. It didn't take a genius to figure out his motives and if things continued, it was only a matter of time until Sinclair got wind of them, that being something they wanted to put off for as long as possible.

Feeling her withdraw her hand from his back, the same longing from earlier captured his body and reluctant to let her out of his arms, he studied her.

"I won't go anywhere," she promised, her lips forming into a warm smile that she certainly wouldn't have offered him just four days ago.

Having been friends for so long and used to each other's constant company, neither one of them had expected the enormous difference that simple step they had taken would make. Yet it had and restrained to the apartment, she had suddenly felt suffocated by his frequent gestures of affection. While a part of her adored to be cared for in such an intense way, her inner need and want for it, for his presence, had clashed with her independent nature, causing the same insecurity that his desire to spend every single second with her had triggered inside of him. It was a sensation he had last felt when he had fallen in love with Claire and although it could not have been more natural, it had thrown him off balance.

Since they both had, as they were used to, covered that sign of weakness instead of sharing it with each other, they had found themselves involved in strained conversation not even 48 hours after he had unofficially moved in with her. It had stretched on over the entire evening until she had finally exploded, making them both realize that they were in the desperate necessity of a talk.

That they had done, quietly admitting their deepest fears to one another, not surprisingly finding the source to be more or less identical, and eventually they had ended up snuggled into each other's arms, knowing they had crossed a final boundary, every door to their heart now unlocked and free for the other one to access.

"You won't?" Mac made sure.

"Actually," she began, her hand sneaking in between their bodies to settle on his chest, "I have a shoulder check up in a couple of hours and then later today you got me a date with the department shrink," she finished her information, a slight disapproval mixing into her voice at her last words.

"I did?" he wondered, the innocence which returned to his features being met with a menacing glare.

"I did," he admitted, nevertheless she continued to glare at him for another moment before her expression softened again.

Although she had not formally agreed to that appointment, she knew that policy and Mac alike required it and she had grumpily told him that she could just as well get it over with.

"However, you conveniently forgot to make an appointment yourself," she reminded him, her fingers beginning to dance over his bare skin.

"I wasn't the one attacked –" he pointed out, catching himself before he could add what had been on his mind and his look clearly showed.

"And nearly raped," she mumbled, casting her eyes downward. "I'd almost forgotten," she added a bit sarcastically, observing her fingertips draw tiny circles over his chest.

Unsure as to what to say, he watched her silently, lifting one hand off her back and placing it over hers.

"Stella…" he said softly, her eyes rising up to his again.

"It's the truth, Mac," she stated quietly, but very factual, nevertheless he could detect the slight tremble in her voice which still held the fear her mind wouldn't allow her to shake.

It was also what told him that she did need psychological support and since she had never explicitly denied it, he knew she was aware of that as well. That, though – in combination with her inability to have prevented the attack itself – had prompted a growing frustration which had been grounds for her outburst yesterday morning over spilled coffee.

Tenderly interlacing his fingers with hers, he felt her respond and even though it was somewhat reluctantly, the tension eased from her body, her eyes regaining firmness.

"But I wasn't the one feeling as guilty as if I had been the attacker." Her voice, too, was firm again, the light challenge reflected in her gaze.

"I'm fine, Stella," he assured – and not for the first time.

For the most part that was the truth; they had had an inevitable talk in the hospital two days after her surgery, when he had informed her of what he had known for three days already but had not wanted to burden her with before the operation.

Apparently even the 400-dollars-an-hour-defense-lawyers had realized that with two NYPD detectives having arrested their clients in action and another one as the victim they didn't stand a chance in court. Thus they had convinced their clients to accept the 10 years the DA had offered and Stella hadn't been too unhappy about it. She had been almost relieved, having the certainty that she would not have the incident with Frankie rubbed into her face again; that the defense would not be able to make a jury judge her after telling them only half of their twisted facts. It surely would not have jeopardized a conviction, if it had, they had gone for it, but lawyers were lawyers and everyone was positive they would have dug up that case anyway, even if only for their personal pleasure.

Yet she had quickly sensed that Mac hadn't been as content as he had pretended to be and it had taken her no more than a minute to figure out that his own trial was still in full session. He had been evasive at first, however, her she had persistently gone back to the subject until he had finally relented to talking things through. During the following two hours she had then managed to clear the vast majority of his conscience; had managed simply with words and gentle touches to once again and as he had predicted her to, lift the weight of shoulders.

Nevertheless there was a tiny part he never allowed her to get a hold of, that his mind always was able to snatch away from her again as soon as she came in contact with it. It was almost like a cat and mouse game, one that he didn't intend to play, that he would have liked to lose at her more often than not. But he didn't have much of a say in it, it was a fight between her and his brain, one that she was set on winning and he knew that she would not give up until she had seen to all the fractions of doubts being chased from his mind.

"And I will continue to be fine even if you keep staring at me," he remarked gently, a flicker of a smile of surrender crossing her face. It meant truce, not peace, he knew that but it was just as well to him as he hardly ever got to the peace stage with her unless she came out the winner.

"You're still missing a shirt," she reminded him once again of not being fully dressed yet.

He realized too late that she had begun to draw her hand away from his, having to allow her to do so, however, he was quick to tighten the embrace around her waist, pulling her the inches she had managed to back off closer again.

"I remember a time when you were afraid the lab would fall apart within an hour if you were not present," she mentioned, her brows rising as if she wanted to ask what happened to that.

"Danny's seeing to that with or without me present anyway," he replied. She had to laugh and even if it was not for long, the sound of it had him crack a smile. The same one she had been able to conjure onto his face last night after he had voiced his concerns over the differences he and Danny had again had to sort out.

"Don't torture the poor guy," she smiled. "He's trying – and his life is hard enough as it is." Her tone revealed that she was not serious and he was aware of how she liked to tease Danny about his various complaints, remembering that prompting him to offer her a grin.

"So is mine," Mac tried for her sympathy, the skeptics in her gaze increasing.

"I didn't know you had a wife and kid," she said, realizing her words only after they were spoken and there was a shadow of pain overlaying his features but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

"I'm working on it," he clarified before she had a chance to apologize. "The latter at least and that's even harder."

"It is?" she inquired, a twinkle now lighting her eyes.

"It is," he confirmed, leaning closer. "It's very – physical and exhausting – and at my age..."

"And since I'll be holding you at gun point each and every time…" she threw in, her words producing a smirk on his face.

"Exactly," he agreed then his lips had once more captured hers and after a moment of reluctance he felt her give in, allowing them to get caught up in another tender play of their mouths.

It was him who this time initiated the end, slowly pulling away, a satisfied smile appearing on his face.

"You're pathetic, Mac," she concluded, a smile nonetheless tugging at her lips as well.

He knew she was right but tomorrow and therefore everyday life would come soon enough, so he offered her a broad grin before finally letting go of her.

As she dropped on the chair, he began to his sort through his shirts, his attention, as it often happened, moving to clothes arranged to his left; the tops, pants and jackets he had seen her wear to many times and simply loved to see hanging next to his suits and shirts.  
"I'll pick up a few more of my clothes on my way home," he decided, pulling a shirt out of the closet and turning towards her as he put it on.  
"You'd have to get to the lab first, so you actually have a way home," she teased, the glare he threw her received with ignorance.

Fully dressed now, he walked over to the bed, snatching the socks off of it and after putting them on he leaned over to the nightstand. He took a sip from the coffee, then collected his cell phone and gun before reaching for his watch and placing that around his wrist he glanced at it. He had 30 minutes left until the start of his shift; it was doable but not in Manhattan traffic and he could feel Stella's piercing eyes on him.

Unable to resist he turned around, finding her sitting cross-legged on the chair, his coffee mug in hand and enjoying the sight, he slowly stood. Awarding the curled up Stella with a friendly pat, he walked out of the bedroom and followed by the name model, he crossed the living room, soon after stepping into the small hallway. He grabbed his suit jacket off the sideboard she maneuvered herself on to a moment later, something he knew she was aware of he would rather not see. Yet she took a lot of pleasure in climbing up there each morning and when he had accused her of doing it just because he didn't like her to, she had not denied it but simply grinned at him.

Having gotten into his suit jacket, he stored his gun, cell phone and badge before slipping into his shoes.

"Is there anything you need or I can get you?" he asked, coming back over to her, snatching the coffee mug she had placed next to her and emptying it.

It had become more of a rhetorical question since she had not once said yes and today was no different, her response yet again an almost reproachful look. However, there was something else in her eyes and he studied her for a moment, waiting if maybe for the first time there was something she, against all odds, needed help with.

"I'm fine, Mac," she then assured.

He was not entirely convinced, nonetheless he offered a nod, telling her to call should that change and as always she promised that she would, all the while they both knew she wouldn't.

Leaning in to her, their lips met for a tender kiss of goodbye, lingering once again a little longer than necessary before they pulled apart.

"I should be home around 7:30," he told her to which she quirked her eyebrows a bit skeptically and realizing how it had sounded, he offered her a grin.

"And if you leave now you might make it to the lab before that," she smirked, her legs, however, snaking around his and now it were his brows which rose.

"You'd have to let go of me for that," he remarked, an impish grin spreading across her face. But her eyes still showed that something was occupying her mind and he studied her a bit quizzically.

"I've been thinking," she finally offered, her gaze leaving his and wandering to his neck where he felt her fingers fumble with his shirt collar an instant later. "I might tell my boss tomorrow that I'd prefer to work only part time for another week or two," she mumbled timidly.

Briefly her eyes grazed his before going back to the shirt collar she continued to busy her fingers with while he studied her with some surprise. It was one of the last things he would have expected to hear from her; that statement equaling an admission of her shoulder being far from as good as she made him believe it was. Of course, he was aware that it caused her more pain than she had let on to yet it seemed to be worse than he had thought and he momentarily was tempted to suggest she'd stay home another week.

"Your boss might really appreciate that," he then simply said, his lips forming into a warm smile.

"I figured," she muttered, her eyes finally moving back up to his and as her hand dropped back beside her, he lifted his to gently place it on her cheek.

"I'm sure your boss would also understand…" he softly began, but she cut in so he wasn't able to finish.

"Don't push it," she warned, the shyness vanished in the blink of an eye. "Or I'll insist on going back into the field in a week," she threatened and although her eyes were serious, he couldn't keep the smile from crossing his face.

"No you won't," he stated matter-of-factly, slowly letting his hand sink to lightly cover hers. "You'll busy yourself with the paperwork I've been saving for you."

"Why would you do that?" she inquired, her fingers responding to his caressing, mingling with them.

"So you won't get bored over the next month or so," he informed her, leaning once again closer as she pulled her brows together into a deep frown.

"How – considerate," she grunted, another smile flashing across his face but he quickly grew serious again.

"Let me know how the check up went," he asked and she offered a nod before his lips connected yet again with hers.

They sank into another kiss, taking a moment to enjoy the last of the caressing for a few hours at least; storing each tender touch until their mouth gradually drew away again. As he opened his eyes, he felt her legs ease from his, his lips curling into another gentle smile as their gazes locked once more.

"Be careful," Stella said softly, her eyes holding his firmly, that being all she had offered each morning for two weeks now; all that she needed to offer in the first place.

"I love you," he replied, assuring her that he had every reason to comply with her caring demand.

However, they both already knew that once she was fully back on the job, he, too, would ask her to be careful as those two words included the love already; included all of the emotions and feelings that essentially had to be portrayed in that instant.  
Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, he let go of it, his fingertips grazing her thigh before he finally walked towards the door, grabbing the handle but turning around once more.

"Stella," he called for her attention, "the deal is valid until midnight tonight," he reminded her. "I can still call it off." Holding her eyes over the distance he was aware of the faintest of a grimace she briefly twisted her features in to.

"Sometimes you're no fun when you're the boss," she murmured, pulling her eyes away from his and he wasn't sure if he had been meant to here and understand that.

"You might change your mind about that – when I can engage you into further… physical activity again," he hinted, her eyes shooting up again and for a second she just stared at him. Those were comments he still surprised himself with but he loved the sensation that came with them and he knew that she did, too.

"Mac!" she admonished, her shock more pretense than genuine and all he offered was a mischievous grin. "Out! Now!" she commanded, his grin only widening.

Yet he didn't reply, finally opening the door instead to step into the hallway and as it shut behind him, both of them knew with a certainty that they had taken the right step into their future after all.


End file.
